Gates Of Dawn
by Massanie
Summary: Part 3 of The Bitter Glass Series: Erestor is at the threshold between the darkness of his past and the light of a new life. He only needs someone to give him a push through the Gates of Dawn. Elrond/Glorfindel/Erestor.
1. Matchmaker of a Sister

**Title:** Gates Of Dawn  
**Series:** The Bitter Glass  
**Sequel to:** Scarred Fate  
**Characters:** Elrond, Glorfindel, Erestor, Elladan, Elrohír, Arwen, Galadriel, Celeborn, Melpomaen, Lindir, Gandalf  
**Rating:** M  
**Warnings:** Graphic Sex, AU  
**Beta:** oli…x  
**Disclaimer:** To Oli, for her marvellous help and to Jen, for just being herself.  
**Summary:** Erestor is at the threshold between the darkness of his past and the light of a new life. He only needs someone to give him a push through the Gates of Dawn.

* * *

**CHAPTER 1: Matchmaker of a Sister**

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES**

**SCRIPTS:**  
'Thoughts'; _~visions~_; _****mind speech****_; -l-_Letters_-l-

* * *

The wheels of life keep turning.  
Spinning without control;  
The wheels of the heart keep yearning.  
For the sound of the singing soul.  
And nights are full with weeping.  
For sins of the past we've sown;  
But, tomorrow is ours for the keeping,  
Tomorrow the future's shown.

Lift your eyes and see the glory.  
Where the circle of life is drawn;  
See the never-ending story,  
Come with me to the Gates of Dawn.  
(Secret Garden, Gates of Dawn)

* * *

Arwen sat at Erestor's desk, the chair turned to the large windows facing the courtyard of Imladris, a small embroidery frame in her lap. With secure, swift movements, she interweaved the fine fabric with tenuous threads of different reds, creating the delicate pattern of a single red rose. Every once in a while her head went up to gaze down into the courtyard far below or beyond it to the narrow road that lead to Imladris.

It was of course not her usual choice to go for her needlework, and certainly not one of the most beautiful places in Imladris but it was the only place where she could carry out the next stage of her current endeavour, a very important endeavour as it concerned not less than the happiness of a friend; for if one thing was more certain than it was the stubbornness of her fellow elves. One could not simply rely on them to find the joy in their life, no, one had to ensure that they would finally run into it – with full speed before they could shy away from the inevitable.

While she was waiting in the one chamber within Imladris where she could undisturbed watch the courtyard for incoming elves, the present object of her scheming - a certain white haired minstrel - was unwittingly fulfilling his part of the plan in his own chambers, attempting to write a little trifle for the one who held his heart. That Lindir was too shy for his own good and that the poem or song or whatever it was, would never reach the marchwarden's ears by Lindir's own doing was of no importance for now; because Arwen had decided to interfere.  
If nothing happened soon, Haldir would return homewards and both stubborn elves would probably convince themselves that they weren't really in love, that it was just a little crush and that the other couldn't possibly be interested. As matters stood right now, Arwen didn't think they needed more than a gentle push in the right direction. But soon nonetheless.

And so, after learning from her grandmother that Haldir and his brothers would return within two hours Arwen had grasped the opportunity to follow through with her plans and corner Lindir one more time. As she had expected the peaceable minstrel soon agreed to make his feelings known in the form of a little piece of poetry, merely trying to stop his lady from pestering him further. Of course both of them knew that he would never show it to Haldir and Arwen thought poetry as a present far too corny anyhow ... but to stumble over the desperate and utterly fruitless attempt to give words to ones feeling was a totally different matter.

Finally the sound of hooves heralded the returning patrol and carefully Arwen set her needlework aside and gathered her gown. It was time to proceed to the next stage.

Hurrying through Erestor's office, along fair corridors and halls and rushing down the staircases she made her way to the courtyard where the soldiers were gratefully dismounting, tiredly and eagerly yearning for a warm bath, a good meal and a comfortable bed; probably in that order.  
Her eyes drifted over the patrol, examining their dusty uniforms that were thankfully free from blood and tearing. Obviously they had not come upon enemies or had been able to take them out from afar with their long bows – which it was she could not say. She could not with a good conscience have approached Haldir with matters of the heart when Imladrian soldiers had been brought home dead or injured.

Overacting her relief, Arwen tried for a serious expression and approached the marchwardens without delay.  
"Haldir" Arwen called out and the silver haired turned to her in surprise.

"My lady, what is it?"

"Haldir, you *have* to come with me, quickly!" Grasping his arm she steered him away from the other soldiers, ignoring the questioning and slightly confused gazes from Haldir and his brothers.

"Did something happen, my lady?" Haldir asked even while he helplessly shrugged his shoulders and mouthed a 'join you later' towards Rúmil and Orophin.

"I really don't know." Arwen sighed, her brow deeply lined with concern.

"It is about Lindir..." the lady started, never slowing her steps.

"What happened?" Haldir asked, maybe a little bit brusquely and abruptly turned towards the dark haired elleth.

"Peace, mellon! He is well ... at least physically that is." Arwen turned to the serious marchwarden, her expression grave.  
"I don't know what happened between the two of you but ever since you left, he was so ... agitated, fearing for you. Daily he asked me if my grandmother had gotten news from you."  
Once Haldir learned that this was nothing but white lies they would hopefully have solved out their relationship. At least Arwen hoped that the two stubborn ellyn would bow to the inevitable soon.

"And when today I told him that you were to return, he burst into tears! Every consolation was in vain. Haldir, he is so hopeless!"

Dumbfounded the marchwarden turned away. "He cried because he learned I would return?"

"He cried because he was happy that you'd be safe and because he realised that you'd be gone from his life nonetheless!" Arwen dearly hoped that she was not overdoing the drama, but she needed the marchwarden to search out Lindir now! Besides, she would not put such a rampant display of emotions beyond the fiery minstrel. And so she brought her lily-white hand up to turn his face gently towards her, letting her eyes overflow with compassion and concern.

"Can you not give him hope? Don't you love him back? For he loves you with all his heart, this he told me."

Uncomfortable at such directness, Haldir lowered his gaze. "It is not that easy! I cannot leave the golden trees of my beloved Lothlóriën and he has much that binds him to Imladris."

Taking the marchwarden's hand into her left and once again raising his chin with the right, Arwen smiled at him. "And if you saw each other only once a decade, wouldn't your life be richer nonetheless for it? If you saw each other only briefly for visits in each other's homeland, would it matter? The day will come when the elves leave this shore, and then you'll be together anyway! If this is what keeps you from him then take heart: there is not space enough to part two immortals!"

Shaking his head wearily, Haldir took a step back. "This is not something to decide so spontaneously..."

'Oh no, my dear. You'll not palm me off so easily!' Arwen thought and followed his retreat. "Please, mellon. Every hour this stays unresolved is torturous for him! He does not know you love him back."  
Large, teary eyes regarded him pleadingly. "If you need to think about it, then tell him that. I just hate to see him like this, he has been crying the whole morning..."

* * *

Lindir strode to one of the large open windows of his chambers, absent-mindedly drumming a fast rhythm on the fair wood. Then he bit his lips and turned, his brow knitted in agitation.

"Gone!" he murmured desperately and wrung his hands. "All gone!"

Back to his desk he went, and with a determined shake of his head he sat down, took up the quill made of a beautiful grained hawk feather that Erestor had gifted him with not so long ago and leaned forward over the bright white paper lying patiently on the wood there. Long moments passed while the head minstrel of Imladris sat tight in that manner, then ...

"All you Valar, hear me! I take no stock in your weird humour!" He cried out.

All those years he had been supplied with elegant rhymes, beautiful verses of love and great deeds. In front of hundreds he had sung about the heroes of old times, about those boundless loves that vanquished all hardship only to now be absolutely bereft of words befitting such a ... such a ... the Valar were just too cruel.

"A'maelamin ... One would not call you beautiful, but you are to me!"  
With a tormented sigh, Lindir started to bite his lip. It was not the most malign whisper he had heard about the proud Galadhrim. Handsome he was, in that hard way. But no classic beauty.  
"I've heard them call you haughty, but this I've yet to see."  
And he would never know how anyone could call the silver haired ellon such, he had even protected an unconscious Faelon from Lindir's temper!  
"There are those with warmer eyes, they say, more generous and wise than you...  
but for me you are the purest of all, and another would not do..."

Slumping down on the table, Lindir buried his head in the crook of his arm and his voice sounded muffled as he continued.  
"And yet there might be an age or two, I do not even know,  
that separates me from you, that keeps me from you now.  
And if it weren't for time alone, the distance would part us anyway,  
so far is yours from my home, and no words are left to say..."

For a moment only distant voices from the courtyard were heard as Lindir continued to wallow in his misery. "I cannot even form a decent rhyme anymore!"

A light rustle of clothing filled the air of the minstrel's study, as the tall elf who had been standing there in the open doorway silently, for the Valar knew how long, suddenly broke his stillness to approach the desk. "I am no professional, but that sounded suspiciously like a rhyme to me..."

"It was horrible!" Came the small, muffled reply, then Lindir's head shot up as it registered with him just who was standing in his doorway and he pushed himself up from the chair quickly. "Ha-Haldir! What...What are you doing here? I... that is ... are you all right? When did you return? I hope all went well..."

Patiently, Haldir let the young minstrel ramble on until his words died away and the fair eyes were cast downwards, a weak blush lending some colour to the otherwise pale skin.  
"We did not encounter any Orcs and the Hillmen were still far from Imladris' borders when our two enemies clashed. I am fine. And they will return to their lairs and lick their wounds for some time to come."

Lindir's blush deepened but he kept his gaze down, not daring to meet the other's eyes. Valar, the marchwarden had heard his poor excuse of a spontaneous love poem, oh he was so embarrassed. If he was lucky, Haldir would be gentleman enough to not address it...

"It was beautiful."  
Lindir cringed. Of course luck never has been with him.

"It was horrible." He repeated his earlier judgement, somewhat sheepishly.

"It was honest. I found it beautiful."

As a pair of mud coated leather boots entered his field of vision, Lindir looked up, surprised to find the quiet marchwarden that close. Gently the silver haired ellon stroked the minstrel's reddened cheek with a calloused thumb. "But maybe that¬¬ love of yours is not as hopeless as it seems to you right now?"

"Even a romantic must stay realistic sometimes."

"But we are immortal, time for us is nothing but a relatively unimportant concept and therefore – in a way – space, too, because we have all the time in the world to bridge it."

There was such gentleness in those grey orbs, such affection. Lindir couldn't help it. Closing his eyes he leaned forward, gently letting his lips brush against Haldir's in silent invitation. Surprised at first, Haldir soon let his arms wander around the slim waist to draw the sweet ellon closer, deepening the kiss. Desperately almost. Suddenly Haldir felt overcome with the need to get more of the younger elf, more of that untarnished liveliness to draw him in. And yet, he did not allow his passion to override sense, not wanting to defile the pure being in front of him; but the feeling that he was touching something forbidden remained.

When they finally parted for air, Lindir found himself sitting on his desk, the still empty parchment crumbling beneath him and he briefly wondered how he got there. Shaking the disruptive thought from his mind, Lindir laid his palms against Haldir's well developed chest, letting them wander over the muscular shoulders. The build of an archer.  
He could still feel the other's unrest palpable like the first time they had met. Maybe the marchwarden was not as confident as he had pretended to be over their ... what? Relationship?

Stumbling over that thought his hands halted in their movements, coming to rest on Haldir's pectorals and he looked up with surprised eyes. Of course he wanted the gallant marksman and when he was honest to himself, he would do nay to everything for him.

"I would follow you, you know? To Lothlóriën. Just not yet. I still have something..."

Calloused fingers silenced him. "Lindir, no. I would not take your home from you, your friends. That is not right."  
Gently his eyes smiled at the young minstrel, though his lips did not. "Give it time, we'll find a way. And don't you think that maybe it is a little bit early to speak about moving together?"

"But I am certain!" Lindir exclaimed and reached up to take Haldir's face between his hands. "I might be far younger than you, but I know my heart. I am certain."

Taking both of the minstrel's hands, Haldir brought them in front of his face, gently pressing his lips first against one, then the other with a genuine smile. "I am glad then."

And happily, Lindir smiled back.

* * *

Just outside on the balcony of the adjoining rooms, Arwen grinned smugly to herself.

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES**


	2. The Sweet, The Bad and The Stubborn Temp

**CHAPTER 2: The Sweet, The Bad and The Stubborn Tempered**

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES**

**SCRIPTS:**  
'Thoughts'; _~visions~_; _****mind speech****_; -l-_Letters_-l-

* * *

In a long line the caravan of two dozen elven horses moved along the pass, leisurely ploughing through the snow masses covering the way. Their riders had enveloped themselves in long dark cloaks to protect them against the bitter cold, the rich fabric floated over the mounts' lean muscled backs and their hoods were drawn into the handsome elven faces.

A single figure stood out with the eccentric, tall hat and the long grey beard that was slowly getting white with frozen snow: Gandalf.

The wizard seemed comfortable in his grey riding cloak, Erestor thought, as if no weather could ever spoil him the wanderlust, and neither the circumstances that pulled him onwards. History, saga, myth, mystery ... conspiracy ... whatever it was that moved him, he was secure and confident in his role.

And this time *he* was the reason. Erestor didn't know if he liked that, but he couldn't change it either. Instead he did what he always had done: he believed with all his reason that intelligence was the ability to adapt quickly and optimally to new situations; and Erestor *knew* that he was intelligent. He would adapt, or so he told himself, he would adapt to Gandalf being his father, he would learn to handle the newfound over protectiveness of his fellow elves. He would - his superior mind would - adapt!

Only that it didn't.

At first, he had been doing fine; at least in Greenwood, among Thalion and Celairdúr and all the others. He had been able to suppress his nightmares with sleeping draughts and forget it all for a few perfect days.  
But not anymore, his days of hiding had found an enforced ending as his brothers had not been able to accompany him, had not been allowed to at the behest of their king. Erestor highly suspected that Thranduil merely wanted to prevent further disagreements between his soldiers and the Imladrian elves: while the Noldor were still somewhat suspicious of Thranduil's people, especially after the latest happenings, the Silvan elves were not yet ready to forget that Erestor had been fading over decades without anyone breaking the circle of self destruction.

But – in the chief advisor's not so humble opinion - it had not been self destruction, but pure logic: his masterpiece to save everything he held dear! He had planned for decades that formed into centuries, to create something as perfect as the ice crystals that gathered on his dark cloak. It needed dedication and skill and a very assiduous and painstakingly accurate personality to achieve perfection, a logical and patient mind ... someone like him.

And yet, looking at the snowflakes Erestor was painfully reminded that his own schemes had turned out to be the most imperfect chaos he had ever seen. What should have been his masterpiece had proven too frail and complex to stand the field test, all beginning with the misjudgement of the event's point in time, which had forced him to spontaneously throw his plans over.  
Naturally this was not something his pride was taking easily, especially not when all elven leaders in almost every elven kingdom (and he was sure that Círdan would somehow learn of it, transferring this statement to *every leader of every elven kingdom*) were perfectly aware of it.

And this fact, this terrible fact, had dire consequences for his self-confidence when confronted with the last week's happenings: he felt so vulnerably exposed, knowing how those elves had crossed his scheming to save him, how they found him naked and bleeding to death ...

Always when he spoke with one of them a wave of nausea flooded his mind at the memory, the kind of nausea one feels when overcome with shame: they had all seen him naked and though there had been nothing sexual about the situation they were aware of what Fiondil had done to him in the cave and probably thought that his cousin had gone all the way with the rape.

Now Erestor was not the type to be left tongue-tied in the face of such a humiliation; decades over decades of mockery and malicious remarks behind his back had taught him exactly how to respond to the unwanted attention of his fellow elves: with cold superiority.

The only problem was that he was not dealing with the typical Imladrian elves who did not care to look behind his mask and were easily deterred by his brusque manner. His current travelling companions were unpredictable in his eyes. His haughty inflection was simply connived, more than that: it seemed to provoke even more fortification towards himself, more sympathy ... Erestor couldn't stand it! And he hoped with all his heart that they would stop their mothering once they had left the Misty Mountains behind and were safely back in Imladris.  
For now, he had to endure...

Yet there came the next problem of his stubborn personality: he had never been one to suffer the unbearable demeanour of his fellow elves with grace and humility, be it chicanery or excessive solicitude. And with the nightmares that plagued him during the nights and left him vulnerable and agitated he was already at the limit of his patience; it did not help that – while sleeping in the open with his lord and his family, his father and the rest of the soldiers – everyone was witnessing them.

Erestor paled at the sickening thought and buried himself deeper into the folds of his warm riding cloak.

"Are you all right, Erestor?" He heard his father's voice next to him. "Are you cold?"

It was all Erestor could do to stop himself from groaning out.  
"Nay, I am fine. Thank you." He said, pronouncing every word as clearly as possible while trying to mask his irritation at least towards his father - and almost, almost succeeding.

"Maybe we should rest for awhile." Arveldir tossed in, eying the younger ellon with concern.

"Really, I am fine and I am not weary!"

"It's all right; I think we all could do with a short rest." Glorfindel intervened diplomatically.

"Nay, I think we should continue." Elrond said with his calm voice, his serene eyes settling on his chief advisor as he addressed his husband through their bond.  
_****Let it be, beloved. Erestor is fine. He is just not comfortable with the amount of attention he receives.****_  
He was sure that Erestor would lose it if they kept up their well-meant yet excessive consideration. The poor advisor just didn't know how to handle it, overwhelmed with the amount of changes his young life had undergone recently. And while the healer in him knew that Erestor would need to face his memories someday instead of hiding them in a remote corner of his mind, Elrond would prefer that to happen in a more private and assessable situation.

Out loud, Elrond continued. "We last rested merely three hours ago. If we continue at this pace, we won't reach Imladris for at least another week. Then the lady Galadriel will be hard pressed to return to Lothlóriën before the continuous snowfalls bar the pass. And during the coming winter the Golden Wood will need Nenya to offer protection against the wargs and orcs, Galadriel will not be willing to stay until spring."

_****You are the healer...****_Glorfindel said through his link a little bit doubtingly.

_****Trust me, he'll be fine. Let's continue our journey, I'm anxious to leave this cursed pass.****_ To get Erestor off the pass, to be more exact. It could not be easy on his chief advisor to be constantly reminded of what had transpired there mere weeks ago.

* * *

Elrond had been right with his concern, it seemed that Erestor's nightmares grew more violent the further they travelled along the High Pass and the advisor himself withdrew even more from his travelling companions. He was pale, ill-tempered and short-spoken; every interaction forced and unnatural, drawing the concern and attention of his fellow elves.

His sulkiness had reached its peak when they crossed the top of the High Pass and with it the remains of the avalanche. Two dozens of Silvan elves had been sent out to clear the pass a week before the Imladrian elves had ventured out from Greenwood and when finally the party arrived, they had already disposed of the greater part of the snow masses.  
Nevertheless the hillside and the valley down below showed the havoc that Erestor had wreaked there four weeks prior.

Erestor had surprised the other elves and had not deigned to look at anything but the path that lay ahead, his head held up high and proud, his face void of emotion. But with darkness came the nightmares and Erestor awoke thrashing and screaming, wakening the whole camp.  
With softly spoken elven words Gandalf – who was ever sleeping next to his son during this journey – had tried to soothe him; but it was Elladan, Erestor's sworn guardian, who succeeded in that task, and for the remainder of the night the peredhel sat at his charge's side.

The next morning, Erestor had rebuilt his mask again, his cold glare resting on those that would approach him. And yet again, his behaviour was countered with compassionate and sympathetic smiles, and with concern as the others assessed his hostility, doubtlessly thinking it a result of the last weeks' happenings.

Yet more than the memories, it was their observation of him and the conclusions they drew that caused his ill temper and made his blood boil. How could those elves that had never cared before dare to judge his behaviour now? He had always been secluded, had always kept himself away from others, and he had always defended his privacy tooth and nail! It was just that no one aside from Lindir, Glorfindel and Elrond had ever *tried* to breach his walls and the three of them had learned the hard way that Erestor did not allow any trespassing without fighting the intruder with everything he got; now that those elves actually did try they had the guts to be surprised at being rebuffed! Had they thought he would suddenly become one of those sociable, cheery cretins that would dance around the trees and sing silly nonsense because they weren't intelligent enough to think of better things to preoccupy them?

Irritated Erestor pinched the bridge of his nose. He really had to stop talking himself into a rage whenever his mind wandered. It gave him headaches.

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES**


	3. Home

**CHAPTER 3: Home**

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES**

**SCRIPTS:**  
'Thoughts'; _~visions~_; _****mind speech****_; -l-_Letters_-l-

* * *

Lindir would never have thought that the day would come when he would dread Erestor's return. The ill-tempered advisor was his best friend and he had spent week after week worrying for him, fearing for him, now finally Erestor returned and would be safely back in the Hidden Valley ... and yet Lindir stood in the courtyard with practically all of Imladris, unable to prevent himself from feeling dread; for the return of his best friend was herald of his beloved's departure.

Under hooded lashes he looked to where Haldir stood behind Galadriel like a statue, the captain of his lady's guard. Somehow he stood out with his solemn face and the humble uniform of the Galadhrim amidst the joyous Imladrian elves with their colourful clothing occupying the festively decorated courtyard.  
The marchwarden had never cared for appearances, never cared for prestige and precious things and garments. No, he had always given preference to his duty and when the lady left for Lóriën, Haldir would follow. And Lindir would stay in Imladris, because Erestor needed him now more than ever. It was not fair.

"Don't look so sorrowful, Lindir. All will be well." Arwen murmured next to him.  
"You may accompany me when I visit my grandmother in two years."  
Surprised, Lindir turned to Arwen. The lady's gaze was directed at the courtyard in front of him, but she smiled mirthfully.  
"It's already decided. You may start counting the days."

Shaking his head slightly, Lindir smiled. No wonder everyone loved that lady, somehow she always seemed to know what people needed to hear.

Minutes later the general talking subsided all at once, making place to a firestorm of happy outcries and cheering, as Elrond's party rode through the rain of flowers at the gates and into the courtyard.

* * *

Galadriel smiled warmly as her ever observant mind and eyes wandered over the riders. Now finally weeks of doubting, waiting, searching and planning were over at last; and it had come to the most fortune end anyone could have hoped for: Imladris and her lords and people were safe – at least for the moment – and Brandon was sentenced.

And the joy, especially at being home, was written on their faces. Especially her grandsons seemed ... changed; neither Elladan nor Elrohír had appeared this unburdened and light of heart since the attack on Celebrían. Gently her mind started to probe while her gaze settled on her son-in-law.

"Welcome, Elrond. It must be the first time that an elven ruler has the chance to bid another ruler welcome in his own land."

The peredhel chuckled as he and his party gracefully dismounted from their long-legged elven mounts. "Well, it certainly was a time of first times, lately. I will just thank you for the warm welcome in my own lands, then."

Finally Galadriel felt out what she had searched for in the twin's mind. A letter. A truth, yes, hurtful yet wholesome.  
For a moment she halted and closed her eyes - 'Your family is whole again, Celebrían, pen velui' – and opened them again with a bittersweet smile to see the peredhil approaching together with Glorfindel and Gandalf, Erestor loitering behind them.

Galadriel's lips curled into an amused smile as she saw how happy Gandalf seemed next to his newfound son although she could not say the same about Erestor.

"Welcome to you all, I hope your return journey was not as ... adventurous as your outward journey."

Inclining his head, Glorfindel stepped forward to embrace his cousin. "It was thankfully uneventful. I hope you didn't run into problems here?"

"There have been Orc sightings at the northern border, but the dark beasts are merely fleeing back into the mountains and trying to avoid a fight at all costs. They have been badly decimated."  
She turned to Erestor, assessing him with her deep eyes. "You did well. If you like, I can teach you how to properly use it, Erestor."

Quickly Erestor lowered his gaze, wishing only to be left alone, to finally flee into the privacy of his own chambers.

"Someday, my lady. For now I only wish for the comfort that Imladris provides for the travel weary." He said with a false smile, sure that the lady would back down as everyone had done so far whenever he tried to steer a conversation away from the happenings on the High Pass and Mirkwood.

"I think Erestor has had enough of long journeys for some time." Gandalf said next to him, winking at the lady of the Golden Wood.

"Of course, I understand that, mellonen." Galadriel smiled in return, but in her mind she addressed Erestor with her gentle and calming voice.  
_****My offer stands, whenever you are ready, Erestor. Rest for now, but know this: you now have the unique chance to change all that was and have the eager help of dozens of elves who are all but begging to assist you. You don't even have to ask, you have only got to let them. You, Erestor, can make your life whatever you want it to be, don't let it pass you by!****_

Erestor looked away indignantly to where Arwen was greeting her parents and brothers. He was not yet ready to think about another life, still busy realising that he *was alive* in the first place; and looking at the peredhil and Glorfindel he became painfully aware of the fact that the life he wished to lead was well out of his reach.

A gentle hand on his shoulder prevented his thoughts from getting lost in a spiral of sulkiness, the slender fingers squeezing slightly in comfort.  
"Come, Erestor, I'll escort you and Gandalf to your rooms." Lindir said while behind them Elrond, Glorfindel and Galadriel started to climb the stairs with a last glance towards the Maia and half-Maia, making sure that they would be taken care of.

Gratefully Erestor accepted and together with his father and the minstrel he left the courtyard, leaving only the twins and Arwen behind.

"I have news for the two of you!" Arwen whispered, gazing after the departing chief advisor with a smug smile.  
"Maybe tomorrow we could speak if you'd spare some time for me."

"Of course. I think we have a little present for you, too, aewithen." Elladan murmured back conspiratorially, using the pet name Celebrían had given her daughter.

* * *

Hours later, when the last echoes of the welcoming feast had faded away, the last revellers tumbled into their feathery beds, Lindir entered his chambers with a stony expression and closed the door behind him silently. As he leaned back against it his fingers unconsciously clawed at the smooth surface. Long moments he stood there like this before finally he let himself slide to the ground.

What had he expected? That Erestor would offer his apologies for being such a secretive prat? That he would realise that he didn't need to hide and lie anymore and finally, finally accept help?  
A bitter chuckle escaped his grim lips. The foolish illusions of a dreamer.

Sometimes he was unsure if it was worth to fight for a friendship that was more a hardship than anything else ... but then again, it was his only friendship that went beyond meaningless diversion.

Lindir drew a shivering breath, praying that somehow, Erestor would change for the better.

'What kind of a friend are you?' he looked up into nothingness, angry at himself. One should not try to change a loved one, but love them the way they were. The question was: could he still do that?

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES**


	4. Laurinque

**CHAPTER 4: Laurinque**

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES**

**SCRIPTS:**  
'Thoughts'; _~visions~_; _****mind speech****_; -l-_Letters_-l-

* * *

Warmly the pale morning sun fell into the spacious, luxurious bed chamber of Imladris' ruler, bathing it in an almost surreal glow with the colour of white gold and throwing the shadows of tree branches onto the walls opposite the large window, where they moved about in a restless dance, just as their substantial equivalents did outside of the large windows. It was this time of the day, these magical moments of twilight that Glorfindel favoured beyond everything else. This single hour, when neither he nor Elrond was plagued by the worries of a long working day, belonged to dreams, to indulgences. It belonged to him and Elrond, always had since that first night they had spent together and always would for the rest of their lives. The one time of the day that he did not allow any of his troubles to find him yet.

And for the moment Glorfindel indulged himself with drinking in every detail of the half elf that had stolen his heart within a glimpse of their first meeting and kept it since then, the part of his soul that he had come so close to losing during the last weeks.  
Elrond still slept in between the rumpled red linen of their bed, caught in whatever pleasant dream Irmo had gifted him with, very much unaware of the blonde sitting silently on the window sill, watching him with his chin propped up on one hand.

And what a view that was, Glorfindel thought to himself, what with the striking contrast of the dark red bed linen and the light-toned skin of Elrond's lean muscled body.  
He was no warrior, not anymore, it showed in his slender form and yet, he had always kept in shape and Glorfindel knew that those elegant hands that used a quill more often than a sword could still well remember the weight of a leather-encased sword handle and how it felt to pull back a bowstring with sure movements. The elf that seemed so peaceful and innocent in his sleep mere meters away (Glorfindel smiled at that thought slightly; after last night and the hundreds over hundreds of nights that they had spent together by now, he could hardly call that elf innocent; no, he knew better by now) was still a powerful warrior.

And handsome. Definitely handsome...

Slowly Glorfindel stood to approach their large bed in silence and with the grace of a big cat he crawled onto the soft mattress, mesmerized by how the fresh light of a newborn sun encompassed the body before him. Carefully, so as not to disturb the sleeping form, Glorfindel circled him so that his shadow would not disturb the rays of light playing on the marble skin.

All this belonged to him: this beautiful being in front of him, this image of perfection, this moment. He did not wait to grasp at it – in the true sense of the word.

* * *

Slowly Elrond woke to the feeling of feathery fingertips tracing patterns on his skin. Still drugged with sleep and feeling comfortably warm, Elrond turned his head to look at Glorfindel, too drowsy still to form a coherent thought, and then too surprised in his sleep induced daze as palms cupped his face and soft lips descended onto his own, moving against them gently. Elrond closed his eyes in utter bliss and instinctively parted his lips when Glorfindel demanded entrance. Felt Glorfindel's tongue slipping inside, warm and heady; felt the rough and velvety texture as it explored the slick insides of his mouth, challenging him to respond likewise.

And Elrond did.

Immediately a hand, calloused from yielding swords and shields, tangled in his dark tresses, kept him still for the onslaught of sensations, as Glorfindel continued to devour him with fervour and for a moment Elrond could feel his lover's smirk, both in the movements of the soft lips on his and in the echo of the other's thoughts and feelings, a constant companion in his own mind.

Then the blonde moved atop of him, his broad, imposing form covering Elrond's more slender one. It never ceased to thrill him, feeling this heavy weight pressing him down, feeling the power of the balrog slayer and he gripped the strong shoulders to pull that strength closer still.

But Glorfindel broke the kiss and moved lower, grinning against the heated skin of his lover's throat as he heard Elrond suck in a breath of air, desperately for the lack of it and because it would not settle the maelstrom of sensations flooding his body and the reeling in his head.  
A gasp escaped the half elf's lips as a calloused hand that he had not noticed loosening its grip on his hair moved down his body, stroking and teasing pale skin, grazing a sensitive nipple before moving on, moving lower over his taut abdomen, ever towards the current centre of his existence.

Elrond's world imploded, seemed to reduce itself to the feelings in his nether regions as that agile hand reached its destiny and he opened his mouth in a soundless scream when he was tightly grasped.

He could feel it again, Glorfindel's smirk, and he would doubtlessly have wiped it off that handsome face if only he could have formed a coherent thought. But the half-elf found it difficult to focus on anything else than the relentless, even strokes on his hardness, even more difficult as Glorfindel's hot mouth closed over one of his nipples.

Quickly the knowing movements brought him so close, so close to that elusive crescendo of pleasure only to suddenly stop.

Elrond moaned in annoyance and glared at his lover, even though he knew the retreat would only be short and only for his comfort. He watched as Glorfindel took the small bottle with oil from his nightstand and uncorked it hastily.

"Get on with it, Laurinque!"

Glorfindel stopped in his movements and raised an eyebrow at his lover. He had almost forgotten their little conversation.  
"Oh, Elrond!" He chuckled as he generously poured oil over his fingers, before settling again between the half-elf's spread thighs.

He leaned over the brunette, his loose blonde hair brushing over his lover's chest while his hands started to knead the flesh of Elrond's buttocks, slid between the crease to massage the puckered entrance. "I see you managed to gather your wits again, a transgression on my part that I shall try hard to atone for and remedy at once!"

Elrond leaned his head back and closed his eyes, an appreciative moan on his lips as two slick, cool fingers entered him, not so much stretching him, merely covering his insides with a fine sheen of oil. Again those warm lips moved over his body, trailing kisses on his smooth stomach, his chest, his nipples; moved lower still to close over his straining erection. And again he lost the trail of his thoughts, lost himself in the euphoric, agitating pleasure that Glorfindel caused him.  
He moaned and whimpered, his fingers grasping at the bed covers in rapture, the combined sensations of the fingers inside of him and that incredibly warm mouth on him almost too much to bear. He was so close again, so close.

Then the slow, wonderful torture stopped and Elrond looked up again to see his lover hovering over him like a large predator. One of his legs was grasped and lifted to rest on one of the muscular shoulders, the other was captured in the crook of Glorfindel's powerful arm.

He could feel the slick head of Glorfindel's need pressing against him, pushing inside his quivering passage slowly and evenly and he bit his lip at the mild discomfort he still felt even after all those times. But, Valar, the stretch was unbelievably good.

Finally completely inside, Glorfindel stopped and leaned down, moving Elrond's leg from his shoulder, spreading his limbs further while he did so. Tenderly he pressed his lips to the corner of Elrond's own before leisurely engaging them in a deep, loving kiss that did not betray any of the exertion he felt within as he tried to keep himself still, waiting for his lover to accept his considerable size.

But not for long. After only a moment Glorfindel started to move within his lover, slowly and surely rocking in and out of that incredible heat.

Fascinated, Elrond watched his lover's graceful movements, the heaving chest, watched him bite his lip in an attempt to keep his control. In some way, in a rather detached part of his mind, he knew that it was the control of his movements that Glorfindel tried to keep so desperately so as not to hurt his lover, *him*. But Valar, how he wanted to shatter…

Then Elrond's eyes fluttered shut at the sensation overload, rendering him unable to pursue any coherent thought.  
He was not aware of the gasps and moans that left his lips, not until he managed to open his eyes again at his lover's urging only to see the triumphant smirk.

… to shatter that control.  
Smirking back at the Vanya, the half-elf locked his legs around his lover's hips and pulled him nearer. He arched his back and moaned at the overwhelming closeness, squeezing the flesh invading his body.

It did not fail to have the desired effect. With a groaned "Valar, El!" the blonde leaned forward to grasp the firm shoulders, holding onto them as he started to thrust faster, almost brutally so.

Elrond had no time to bask in his victory as he felt the pleasure mount unbearably and once more he writhed and arched as both he and his Glorfindel rose to a crescendo of pleasure that seemed to explode from their taut bodies.

* * *

Glorfindel's head leaned on his shoulder, he could feel the rapid breathing caressing his silken skin, then it were quivering lips.

"Laurinque." Elrond murmured affectionately and smiled in response to the smile that he felt against his shoulder.

"Ithilen" came the whispered reply and he could feel the blonde nuzzling his neck before Glorfindel breathed a sigh against the heated skin and tried to shift away. "We need to get up…"

Elrond pulled him back "One moment, Laurinque, one moment longer."

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES**


	5. Escalation

**CHAPTER 5: Escalation**

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES**

**SCRIPTS:**  
'Thoughts'; _~visions~_; _****mind speech****_; -l-_Letters_-l-

* * *

-l-_  
Dear Thalion,_

_I hope this letter finds you well, I certainly am, at least now that we have returned to Imladris._

_I hope you will not be too pleased to hear that our journey was more an endless concatenation of nuisances than otherwise exhausting. Ironically enough I think at least my sanity would have been safer without such a guard as ours._  
_I tried to convey with all means known to me to let my wish for solitude be known but it seems that my fellow elves decided I was not to be trusted with the simple task of looking after myself._

_I am sincerely hoping that they will tire of their superfluous protectiveness within the safe boundaries of Rivendell. It galls me._

_But I do my very best to honour your sound advice and have so far managed to stay at least on the verge of politeness, especially when conversing with my elders and betters._  
_I took to evaluating my conversations again - rather in a similar manner I once did by the advice of Dírhael, when I was still an apprentice and trying to hone my skills in diplomacy and rhetoric - and I find that most often when I managed to divert my opponents, it was with carefully weighted words or none, the latter being certainly more effective._  
_I am working on the truthfulness and self-confidence._

_But still I find them unpleasantly persistent._

_Please do tell Celairdúr that I took his chiding to heart and am pushing myself up from the ground. On my own. Already I feel calmer and safer now with the familiarity that awaits me here._

_Please let me know where things stand in Greenwood. Now that I am able to keep in contact with you without the fear of exposing you to my uncle's wrath I find myself anxious to do so._

_Yours,_  
_Erestor_  
-l-

Thoughtfully, Erestor laid the quill down and turned to the large windows in his study, watching the sun rise. Yes, it was indeed time he started to heed his brothers, time to push himself up again. Alone.

It was not that he wasn't grateful for the advice and help offered to him, he thought, or at least appreciate the good intentions, but they just weren't … he didn't want them. His reputation was already damaged enough as it was and it would be folly to believe that the guards who had taken part in his rescue and had witnessed his degradation at the hands of his family, had heard about his childhood from his lips, had seen him lost in nightmares; that they would actually have the decency to stay silent about all that. Foolish indeed. He would not count on It for a second.  
No, soon word would spread over Imladris and - if he gauged the complexly intertwined, blood thirsty rumour mills of the elven realms correctly - to every elven ear that concerned itself to listen before the end of the year.  
He needed to prove himself capable of rising above his past; and that he could only do alone.

For a moment though he felt guilty for half-lying again to Thalion about his mental condition. He *knew* that he wasn't well; ever since leaving the soothing, calming safety that his brothers had provided in Greenwood, he had been dangerously close to snapping. his condition had only grown worse during the journey with the obtrusiveness of the other elves and Gandalf and those damn nightmares. He could not allow that destructive behaviour to continue, the possible repercussions to his work, his social status, his life were literally unpredictable.

Unforgivable.

Tiredly he rubbed over his eyes. He hadn't slept at all. Always there had been that nagging fear that something would happen; like the assassination attempt in Mirkwood - and even though they later had learned that that elf had merely tried to feed him water from the Enchanted River and keep him from testifying, he didn't feel safe anymore, not even in his own rooms.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that someone had been in here, had searched them while he was trying to save the objects of his infantile infatuation. Many of his possessions had been moved and only roughly been put back into their original spots and places; someone had rummaged through his desk and someone had stirred the ash in his fireplace where he had burned what was too delicate for anyone to find. The idea that maybe something had survived the fire's destruction, that something had been found and *read*…

His chambers, his previously safe haven had been invaded and desecrated. How could he be safe there?

And he consciously concealed that from Thalion. Again lying, or at least not admitting the truth.

A moment later he jerkily brought his hands down and choked that trail of thought, weariness stealing the grace in his movements. There was no reason to worry his brother causelessly with reports about his nightmares, especially since he had no intention to fail in healing himself.

Erestor snorted humourlessly. If he had known he would survive long enough to necessitate healing, if he hadn't thought of himself as a sacrifice, but *told* someone of his visions, there would be no need for healing.  
"It's your own fault. Get over it!"

For some moments Erestor let the harshly spoken words sink before nodding to himself. With a conscious effort - that should not have been an effort at all - he controlled his movements and leisurely yet intently pushed the arm chair back as he stood and walked into his bed chamber.  
Then he started to undress, carefully pealing layer over layer of fabric away and folding them neatly before setting them down on a chair in one corner of his chambers.

* * *

Minutes later Erestor stood in the middle of his room, his face void of any emotion as he gazed at his image in the head-high mirror. Cold eyes, circled from his lack of sleep, travelled over his nude body, half bathed in the deceptively warm light of a new sun, half veiled in shadows still.

Erestor felt uncomfortably vulnerable, the need to cover himself a nagging presence in his mind and with some difficulty he resisted the urge to look around and ensure that he was indeed alone. He would not allow his fears to rule his life. Right now, Erestor was alone in his chambers and he *knew* that and there was no logic reason for anyone to seek him out anytime soon. He had enough light now and enough privacy for the first time since 'the incident' to initiate what he thought of as 'curative self-finessing'. The first time and since he hated his fears with a passion, hated how weak they made him, there was no excuse for neglecting such an opportunity.

And this was the first opportunity because there had always been too many elves observing him in Greenwood and on their journey back, never leaving him alone. Their concerned eyes had followed him everywhere, even to his private chambers as he had been practically escorted there by at least half a dozen soldiers after the welcoming feast the day before, all of whom had been part of his rescue party. He had only barely managed not to attack them - at least verbally - until the cocky bastards would have drawn in their horns and fled.

He had hated himself for that and maybe that disgust was the sole reason why he had restrained himself in the end and allowed them to guard his steps to his chambers with a forced smile.

And yesterday night it had been too dark with candles being the only light source in the large chamber. Therefore this morning was actually the first chance to really assess the … damage done to his body during the past weeks and by doing that, relive and accept both how and by whom each of the scars marring his pale skin had been inflicted and to realise and accept that none of them had eventually cost him his life like he had always anticipated.

And maybe, just maybe to remind him that every single one of those scars was ultimately the result of his own incompetence. But that was not a line of thought Erestor would allow himself to indulge in consciously, being aware of the futility and destructiveness of self-accusations. No, this was about twisting his very memory of the past events, consciously steering the feelings and images in his mind into certain desired directions to evolve into something stronger, about facing his fears and overcome them by reasoning them out.

He owed this to his rescuers just as Celairdúr had told him, he had been given the gift of a new life and he owed it to everyone involved to seize it. But he would do this only his way, on his own terms.

Erestor was not yet convinced however that such a deliberate self-manipulation was even possible. He made a mental note to read up on Elrond's essays on mental traumata. For now he could only experiment by willingly facing his memories one by one. In chronological order, because order (natural or artificial) was ultimately nothing less than the foundation of everything peaceful.

Taking a deep, determined breath, Erestor turned his back towards the mirror and looked over his shoulder at the pale streaks on his back where the crude whip had bitten into his flesh. They had torn away his cloak and his shirt to do so, and for a moment he had thought they would do what they had done to Celebrìan, that they would take him, and his sanity and his life by doing so. But they had not, and he was infinitely grateful for that.

Even so, the pain from his prolonged torture … when he had had the visions about it, he had thought himself capable of enduring it. He could not have been more wrong. The agony had left him panting after a few strikes and when he had broken down, promising to tell them everything, Erestor had only been half pretending. He had only wished it to stop.  
Erestor had told them all the details about the imagined conspiracy and the Orcs had been unable to withstand it like he had known they would. Who could withstand a good conspiracy anyway?  
That had been a mistake. It had been too soon, too soon for them to abandon their game.

_The leader grasped his chin in a painfully tight, cruel grip, digging his claws into his cheeks as he forced Erestor to look at him. His breath reeked, sickening his pain-weakened victim until Erestor thought he would vomit right into his face. That thought had amused his fogged mind somewhat and almost he had snickered insanely.  
But there was so much hate in that gaze as the Orc started to grasp the dimensions of the allegiance between humans and elves that had supposedly formed to bring down the orcish tribes in the mountains. And Erestor was afraid._

_"Make sure that he'll live!" he barked at the other Orcs in the room without taking his yellow eyes from Erestor before he hissed at the elf in front of him._

_"You'll accompany us when we battle your friends. You will watch us slay them all and know that you caused it. *Then* you can die."_  
_And with that he had left to plan his counterattack, leaving Erestor in the hands of his subordinates who were grinning at him in cruel anticipation._

Erestor looked aside feeling sick, overcome with a flood of memories of cut skin, breaking bones, of the burning red-hot metal rod which *they* had pressed into his flesh, into his pain- and fear-sweaty skin.

_"Such perfect skin. Nothing should be that perfect." An ominous hiss against his ear. And the beast's smell mixing with the stench of gore, sweat, fear and … waste. He groaned at the blinding agony, the sound giving another of those things a sudden, terrible idea.  
"You elves love to sing, don't you? Sing for us!"  
_

And he had 'sung' for them; he had screamed and screamed until his throat was too raw and his body too weak to react in any way and all the while their sharp nails had raked over the fresh burns.

And because he had already told them about the armies he had had nothing to give them anymore in hopes of release or a swift death. Erestor had thought they would kill him slowly and tortuously then. The following days had been a blur that he could not really decipher now and he had been surprised when Elladan had called him back from the brink of death.

But oh the pain had been so cruel, so unbelievably all-consuming.

Erestor's breathing was fast, too fast by now and he had to swallow around the lump forming in his throat.

Now he could not even remember the pain. Oh he remembered the feelings coming with it well enough, the tenseness of his muscles, the sheer terror; he could only vaguely recall exactly how unbearable the agony had been, how exactly it had felt, if it had been sharp or blunt, but he knew with a shocking certainty that it had flooded his whole body, that he had not been able to escape, that he had been *helpless*. He felt chilled suddenly and shivered.

"You were not helpless!"

The whispered words resounded in the large chamber. Rather surreal. And incorrect. Erestor had been helpless to stop them from torturing him, had been unable to stop his cousin from violating him, from stabbing him.  
That loss of control had terrified him more than the actual pain or the abstract concept of death. Which was a somewhat unexpected realisation, yet not completely surprising. All his self-confidence relied on his ability to control a situation, to plan and have that plan work out.

"But it was your choice all along." He whispered once more into the silence. He had known beforehand what would await him. In the end he had been the one to decide to let himself be caught by those Orcs and face the torture. And he had succeeded, hadn't he? The Orcs had marched against the humans. The armies had nearly extinguished themselves. That surely must have been worth the torture of a single elven being?  
And furthermore: he had survived…

Raising his chin defiantly Erestor took a calming breath and willed his heartbeat to slow down, and his breathing to even out. The eagle had come, he reminded himself, it had freed him, had brought him to Elrohír and Elladan, his sworn protector and they had healed him and had promised him safety.

Erestor's eyes were again drawn to the mirror and he turned around, gazing at the paling marks of the eagle's talons on his stomach, the proof of his rescue reassuring him somewhat. Thankfully he hadn't been conscious when he had received them.

His eyes darted from the round talon marks to the two ragged scars in his abdomen and he traced them with a pale finger, feeling the uneven, newly formed skin. The paler one was from the Orc blade, the pinkish, fresher one from Fiondil's elven blade. An elven blade of all things that had almost cost him his life.  
That was the indisputable evidence of his shameful control loss. Erestor scowled at his mirror image, somehow regretting that his elven healing abilities would make the scars fade in time. No reminder would stay with him but the images that tortured him during…

Erestor jumped at a sudden noise and quickly backed away from the door leading to his living room and deeper into his bed chamber, his heart pounding madly in his chest with an unnamed, shapeless fear.

The knocking resounded once again through his luxurious quarters, causing Erestor to release his shivering breath, annoyed with the interruption, furious at his jittery nerves. But still his heart seemed unwilling to slow his anxious, furious beating, as he wondered somewhat panicky who would dare to intrude on his privacy this early in the morning and for what reason.

For a moment he could almost see the hooded and masked forms of several blond ellyn standing there - he just knew they were blond, even though he couldn't see the pale locks - see them waiting for him to open the door and walk into their trap once again.

"Counsellor Erestor! My lord, are you not up yet? Breakfast will be opened soon."

Releasing a shivering breath, Erestor growled lowly in his throat, his relief at hearing the rather innocent reason fading into nervous anger. Damn it! He had lost himself to his memories so long that he was now going to be late for breakfast and draw attention.

"Idiot!" he hissed in self-deprecation before quickly starting to throw layer on layer of his formal – yet for him utterly familiar and *safe* - robes.  
Erestor fervently wished his heart would stop beating so hard.

Again he heard someone pound on his door, the sound seeming somewhat more insistent this time.

"Counsellor Erestor!"

"One moment!" He hissed aggressively into the silence that had followed as his unknown guest was listening for a response, the comment probably not loud enough to be heard. Swiftly he let his anger override his fear, it was so much easier to deal with.

"Counsellor? Is everything all right?" The voice filled with alarm – which in turn had Erestor's temper seething beneath the surface within the moment.

"I am on my way!" He snapped at the door and heard the shuffling noises subside.  
Hastily he started to lace the cord at the front of his robe, all the while striding on bare feet through his bed chamber and across the living area to the door leading to Imladris' corridors.

With a quick movement he turned the key and dashed the door open. Immediately his irritated glare fixed itself on the group of elves standing just outside his chambers in the corridor, each face bearing the same startled expression at his rushed entry (at least he hoped it was not the surprise at his rushed appearance, he was still barefooted after all).

For a moment he had to swallow the urge to bang the door closed again and suppressed a shiver. Half a dozen ellyn. Battle-tried soldiers. Their bulky frames towering over him - if not in height than certainly in the sheer physical strength that lent them confidence. But he managed to recall well enough how he used to make them cringe before him, scared just from the nasty sting of his tongue.  
If only he managed to send them away, he'd be fine.

Briefly Erestor wondered if he should ask them for the reason of this early interruption (breakfast starting soon was no legitimate reason for nearly smashing his door, let alone being in front of it in the first place) or if maybe he could get away with just staying silent and shutting the door after fifteen seconds unless one of them managed to break from their stupor and speak up within that time. It might work…

Deciding that this would be more than rude and that Thalion was right and that discourtesy was indeed an open display of weakness – which he did not possess – he faced the one standing closest, shoving aside his fear, and let his face become his comfortable blank mask of superiority and gave a very curt nod in welcome.  
"Tauron. What is it that brings you to my chambers? It must be a rather urgent matter if you could not wait to seek me out in my office at a more … appropriate time, especially since breakfast is about to start."

Erestor made sure to accompany his words with a soft snarl that should tell them that he was not to be approached except with work related matters. There, at least another scholar would recognize this as a hint as broad as the great sea Belegaer, even those soldiers should be able to grasp it.

Unfortunately for Erestor he had not yet truly realised the impact of the newfound insight his fellow elves had gained into his personal affairs and as such was so far not used to attach any value to the repercussions of 'the incident' and include them into his thought process.  
And the soldiers in front of him seemed to be rather willing to overlook his hostility as they were taking in his angry but tired expression and the rumpled state of his hastily donned clothing.

Only Erestor was surprised as Tauron cocked his head and smirked at him, so completely unperturbed it was rather disconcerting. "Oh no, lord Erestor, you misunderstood! We were merely passing by and thought we could accompany you to the great hall? You already said: Breakfast is starting in a quarter of an hour."

Erestor blinked at the soldier's impertinence. "I am perfectly able to recall the way to the great hall."

"But of course!" Another of the soldiers said, smiling winningly at the chief counsellor.  
"We just thought to pick you up since your chambers are almost on our way."

"I'm afraid I have to decline." Erestor gnarled, grinding his teeth together. "I am not yet ready."

"No problem, counsellor. We'll wait."

Erestor found himself at a loss for words, something that he was certainly not accustomed to. He had not expected the soldiers to be this … persistent but had rather hoped that their bothersome protectiveness would wane once they had reached the safety of Imladris, once he wasn't their *duty* anymore. After all, that's what he was, wasn't he? It was only their sense of obligation and probably their guilty conscience that made them act that way.  
Valar, how he wished they would just go away! Their presence started to feel oppressive, threatening. They were too many, too much built like the soldiers they were, too unimpressed with his acidic words, too unusual and unpredictable in their behaviour.

Straightening himself even further, Erestor took a step back to blindly reach for the door handle, indicating that he considered their conversation over. He dearly hoped they would not see his shivering hand. "Don't. I would not want to inconvenience you. Please go ahead."

Just as Erestor started to close the door, Tauron reached forward with one hand to lay it on the doorframe to stop him. It was a small gesture, really, he had only intended to keep the conversation going, to keep the advisor from isolating himself. He had not meant to startle him like that. And he honestly did not understand what exactly was happening as Erestor paled and hastily shied away from him.  
For a moment Tauron was too stunned to move and then before he could, one of his friends had managed to wake from his stupor and rushed past him.

"Lord counsellor?"

It seemed as if the concerned voice made Erestor realise what he was doing as he clamped a hand over his open mouth and turned around to escape the damned worried glances.

"Are you all right?" Tauron asked as he and the other soldiers slowly made their way into the room, closing the door behind them to ensure their privacy.  
Erestor jumped at the quiet noise, fighting not to run from the room. He managed not to move, not to turn around. It was harder than he thought as all his instincts screamed at him to keep his enemies in sight.

They had closed the door. They were standing right in front of it, blocking the only way out. His eyes darted to his bed chambers, he could reach them but the others were so close behind him, so close that he would not have the time to lock himself in before they would reach the chamber, too.  
He felt unable to move, frozen in indecision.  
Then he startled as the question of his well-being was repeated and feeling sick to his stomach from disgust and fear he reminded himself that it was utterly ridiculous to think they would chase him down, and if they would not, then he could chase *them* away.

"I am fine." He said gruffly, but his voice still trembled. He *knew* he wasn't, Erestor thought indignantly. But it was his bloody right: damn it, only mere minutes ago he had violently dragged all his traumatic memories back to the surface; the sudden movement towards him had startled him, that was all there was to it … he just wasn't fit to deal with it right now! Some minutes to gather himself, just a few minutes…

"And that had better not be the sound of the door closing; because you will all go now. All of you" Erestor swallowed as he heard his voice shiver and tremble and took a calming breath. "And if you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone, I will make you realise that there are worse fates than death!"

By the time Erestor had finished, his voice sounded strangely close to tears, even for himself. It was the one thought that managed to penetrate his current angst-ridden mind, that others would hear of this and that the image of strength and determination he was trying so hard to erect again around him would shatter.

A pair of strong hands grasped his shoulders and turned him around and even while he desperately tried to get away - caught in fear and shame and anger - he was drawn against Tauron's solid chest and held close. "Leave me be! Just leave…" He half begged, half demanded, fighting against the restricting hold.

But Tauron only shushed him, starting to murmur soothing nonsense into his ears and the arms around him tightened in response and the dark haired soldier nestled his body against his own, caging Erestor's arms between them.  
The mixture of anger and terror flared again in Erestor's chest. He hated and feared the position the physically superior soldier had put him in, the bodily closeness, the helplessness. He felt caged. oh, but he would break out, he thought indignantly, his anger proving to be stronger than his fear.

He willed his body to still in his captor's arms, understanding that he had not the strength to fight free. But if Tauron would not let him go soon, Erestor knew his panic would overwhelm him finally.  
Stiff and tense, his hands clenched into fists pressed between his chest and Tauron's firm pectoral muscles he looked over the soldier's shoulder at the other men and saw them stepping back with something like apprehension.

He was not aware of the oppressive gloom that was creeping up around him so menacingly, sucking up the light, negating it. He did not see how he, Erestor, was becoming the centre of the chamber, everything around him vanishing in darkness as if not important enough to gain the light's attention which was focusing solely on him, on the magnetic power he had become, and it made him seem so imposing, a terrible greatness, looming over the other elves in the chamber.

"I want you to leave!" Erestor snarled at them, daring them to stay and face his wrath.

He felt Tauron's arms retreat immediately and watched the elf scramble backwards and for a moment he felt a grim satisfaction at this success.  
Then Tauron's eyes met his and the blank and naked fear staring back at him startled him, shocked him. He looked to the other soldiers regarding him with that same expression, but frozen into immobility and backed away. Despite his confusion at their reactions, relief flooded him in torrents. They might fear him for whatever reason, but they would also leave him alone.

In that moment the soldiers broke from their stupor as one, managing to breathe again, if a little bit fast and agitated, as the darkness receded, the light snapping back into place. Erestor stared back at them, confused, relieved and just a little bit afraid and irritated, but mostly soaring on the feeling of success, drunken from just being able to freely breathe again.

"I want you to leave" he said again, each word hard and determined. "And never to return to these chambers."

There was a moment of tense silence as Erestor waited for the men in front of him to react in some way, any way, willing them to at least *stop staring*.

"Erestor?"

Erestor bowed sideways a little bit, to look around the tall forms of the soldiers, barring the view of the doors, where - to his utter dismay - Gandalf was watching the little drama unfold with an unreadable expression. Honestly, couldn't they at least confront him one party at a time instead of teaming up against him?

Absently he wondered when the wizard had entered, what he had heard and seen - it seemed that no one had noticed him opening the door: some of the guards had whirled around as the unexpected intruder spoke up, but some like Tauron had only thrown a glance over their shoulder and Erestor had seen the surprise from the profile of their faces. But now Tauron and a few others were staring at him again, *observing* him, he noticed with unease, waiting for his reaction. Obviously his orders to step out of his life had been ignored. Surely they didn't think he would be tamer now just because of Mithrandir's presence? That was not acceptable.  
For a moment the nameless fear at the others' interest in his person spiked again through the layers of anger and rage, but only for a moment until his father spoke again in a strangely strangled voice, drawing his attention away from the guards.  
"What are you doing, Erestor?"

Erestor narrowed his eyes dangerously, still craning his neck to be able to see the old wizard, strangely glad at the distraction and he leaped at it immediately.  
He could use the ire of his father going too far: Gandalf should know when to back off if their relationship was to work.

"This is none of your business, Mithrandir." He snarled.

"You *must not* use this gift unless to help others - directly or indirectly - *ever*!" The wizard took a step forward and around the group of elves still hindering his view.

For a moment Erestor wondered what the old Maia was speaking about, but then he decided that he didn't actually care right now and he chuckled lowly, dangerously. So the wizard already thought he could order him? He would teach him otherwise.

"You have no say in any of my doings, Istar!" He drawled, choosing to address the Maia with a title as impersonal as he could think of. "In fact, you have no business in being here whatsoever. Kindly refrain from invading my home uninvited again and take those " he gestured to the other ellyn "with you. I have no desire for the company of meddlesome …"  
Erestor made another vague hand movement, trying to think of a word to describe them without being too insulting (He had originally wanted to say 'imbeciles', but if Elrond or Glorfindel found out they would definitely not be amused over such a slighting of Imladrian soldiers or an elf friend).  
"disturbers of *my* peace." Well, that was at least true, and not too offensive either.

Erestor already regretted his consideration as Tauron and his friends were obviously unperturbed by that and he glared at them, his rage flaring like cold fire in the pit of his chest - which didn't seem to impress them either. Now with the Maia at their backs, they had apparently found their courage again.  
Tauron made to speak then, but Gandalf forestalled him

"It is my business as your father if you are abusing the gifts of your heritage!"

Erestor felt his jaw drop. He had not had visions for some days now, only nightmares, and the ones he had had since fleeing from his family four centuries ago he had always ever used to help defend his fellow elves. Even the other elves in the room obviously felt that Gandalf had overstepped an invisible line as they carefully regarded son and father with apprehensive looks.  
"How dare you! How dare you imply that I misused my so-called gift!" He spat the last word as if it was pure poison.

And to him, it was, at the very least it had poisoned the minds of his family members and had destroyed his childhood, his life, had led to his torture, sexual abuse and almost to his death. It had literally destroyed his life, causing him scars that would maybe need decades to fade and would probably never heal fully.

Bitterly he gritted his teeth as he again remembered in clear detail what had happened to him as a result of this gift. If Gandalf thought that he had invited the visions, wanted them, then he was so inexcusably ignorant, it was disgusting.

"Leave if you distrust me so immensely! You have no commitments towards me. You sired me, nothing more! That doesn't implicate any responsibilities and I certainly don't want you to just take them; nothing ties you to me. If you have any complaints against me, lodge them to my superior, lord Elrond."

For a moment Gandalf closed his eyes as if in pain. How could it have come to this and so fast? When he had felt Erestor's powers and rushed to his chambers he would never have expected to see what he had: Erestor, great and dark and terrific, towering over the elven guards cowering in front of him. His son had used his voice and power to intimidate them, to scare them.  
And he could not bear the thought of his own flesh doing that without any sign of holding back, completely unrestrained: Even now the soldiers had not recovered totally, were still silent in their shock, observing them reservedly.  
And then everything had gone out of control when he had, in his own shock, destroyed what little trust Erestor held in him and his son now refused to see the error of compelling others with his voice, instead he was shattering the delicate link between them, the fragile relationship they had begun to build. 'He is like a feral cat' he thought, 'hissing and snapping at everyone coming too close'.  
If he had only acted more cautiously, more advisedly …

Erestor took a step back, towards the doors that presumably lead towards his bed chambers and snarled at them again "Leave now! Just go!"

'A feral cat in self-defence', why had he not seen that the first moment when he had entered Erestor's chambers? It was so obvious. He must have been frightened with those soldiers in his sanctuary and lashed out in the only way he saw to defend himself.  
"By Este, Erestor. I want … I think I understand why you did it, but *please*, speak to me, there was no need to…"

Maybe it was the indecisiveness that swung along with Gandalf's voice, maybe it was the deep rooting anger over being unjustly reprimanded for using his gift of foresight when he had sacrificed so much for the sake of others, when he had never used it for selfish reasons, never; whatever the reasons were, they overrode Erestor's fear and disquiet - and his reason - like a blazing firestorm and he only wished them all *gone* and did not wonder why Gandalf would bring up his visions now, that maybe, maybe he was speaking about something else entirely.

"Go Istar!" Erestor ordered, his voice clear and firm and hard like mithril and his face was set in an expression of endless, cold and honest contempt that seemed to cut right through Gandalf, making the wizard draw back a step.

"Erestor…"

"Fine. Since you obviously won't leave, I will." The young elf snarled and turned to include the witnesses to their fight into his glare. "Make sure that I won't see you within these chambers ever again! When I return, you will better have left quietly and without touching anything or life might become rather uncomfortable for you."  
Erestor strode towards the door and past the stunned soldiers, making sure to keep them between himself and his father. He did not look at him, refusing to see the hurt in those expressive eyes that, he knew, could ensnare an unsuspecting viewer with compassion or pierce him with that intelligent, unwavering attentiveness that just saw right through a person's soul; or would be able to slaughter his anger with the anguish they *might* hold.

Erestor squished that thought ruthlessly. When he had reached the door he turned around once more.  
"And Tauron" he spoke venomously, then paused, ensuring that he would have the other's attention "don't you *dare* to touch me again!"  
He was not sure if one of his self declared guardians or - Manwë forbid it - his father heard the slight tremor in his voice, but he didn't stay to find out either.

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES**


	6. Falling Apart

**CHAPTER 6: Falling Apart**

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES**

**SCRIPTS:**  
'Thoughts'; _~visions~_; _****mind speech****_; -l-_Letters_-l-

* * *

Outside of his rooms, Erestor almost gave in to the temptation of sagging against the walls of the corridor. His heart was pounding so madly it almost hurt and his anger was blown away like smoke in a strong wind.  
Valar, what had he done?

Again the fear broke through to the surface of his very being, flooding him along with the knowledge that he had just had his façade shattered utterly and irretrievably.  
Unconsciously he started to walk, quickly, as if to run from the implications of that fact.

Façades - they were a very important facet of Erestor's life, always had been and always would be, at least he couldn't imagine a life without his masks. He had maintain¬¬¬ed a façade of weakness and innocence for his family before his flight to Rivendell, that had made them underestimate him; one of vulnerability and helplessness for Thalion, meant to gain his unconditional assistance; one of false scars for Dírhael and Elrond so that they had refrained from questioning him about his past; one of haughty superiority and ruthless severity for his colleagues that ensured him their obedience when he could not afford the time and strength to argue; one of coldness and stoniness for the rest of Imladris to keep them at bay and one façade especially for Lindir because he couldn't tell him the truth about his past when he had lied to everyone else and because, frankly, no one was allowed to know him.

Erestor was aware that he was - in a way - all of these, and none of them completely, and even through the fear and anger and confusion rattling his mind he had still wanted to maintain them by all means, because they were always there, giving him security at the very least, more likely being the very pillars of the confidence others saw in him. But that wasn't possible anymore now, was it?

"Ai Elbereth!" Erestor whispered, his head reeling. Valar, he needed them back so badly!

For a moment the sudden sick feeling in his stomach almost made him gasp out and hold onto the wall for support, but he ignored it. He quickened his steps again instead, almost running from the truth.

He could not allow his façade to fall away. Surely Gandalf, Tauron and the others would not dare to spill anything, surely they would keep their silence about this? No, they wouldn't, surely they wouldn't. Deep down he knew that it would be folly to think they would.  
"Damn them all!" he whispered to himself, half angry, half desperate.

'Play it down, then!'  
He could, couldn't he? Blame his lack of sleep for his skittishness, accept rebuke for his aggressive hostility and take sleeping draughts to placate everyone… he'd bury himself behind a wall of aloofness and coldness again. That had worked just fine when he first came to Imladris, it would work again. It must.  
He could play it down because people expected him to be hostile. It was alright, if he could just reaffirm his façades he would be able not to fall apart himself…

He would arrive at breakfast a little bit late but in control, hard and cold and strong, his mask in place and none of the witnesses of his earlier moment of weakness would keep him from getting his emotions under control once again.

But he could not dislodge the notion that his fears were too great an obstacle for him to overcome on his own. Only with flaring rage had he managed to overrule his panic mere minutes ago. But his anger had burned too hot and consumed its fuel too fast.

It had cost him his father and with him a possible ally.

And now with the anger gone, all his irrational fears flooded him again, sending the phantom pains in his scars flaring up. He felt as if he was being followed. A ridiculous notion, he *knew* that. Still, he threw a glance backwards before he berated himself harshly. There was no one there, *of course* there was no one there…  
'In the same way that there was no one within your room the night of the attempt on your life?' For a moment his breathing seemed laboured as it had been after his attacker had thrown him onto his back on the stone floor and he had to gasp for air.

Then Erestor managed to push that thought away violently, fastening his steps.

But no matter how fast he walked, he could not escape the feeling of utter terror that had washed over him as he had seen Tauron reach out for him, could not escape the memories flooding his mind. Mithrandir's unjust accusations had roused them along with his righteous anger, because he had suffered *so much* for others and he remembered it all now: the images of those dreadful hours and days danced a macabre roundelay around his inner eye.  
Whipped and kicked and beaten and stabbed and cut and burned and hit and violated and stabbed.  
And once again from the beginning…

He himself had pulled them to the surface and Gandalf had had the effrontery to ridicule them.

This whole morning had been one terrible mistake, he thought frantically as he strode towards the dining hall, his hands absently travelling over his robes, smoothing out any wrinkles.  
He should have buried all those memories of pain and humiliation and *helplessness*. Now that he had forcefully reminded himself of all the gory details they just didn't leave any more, tearing and rattling at the fragile construct of his sanity. How could Tauron reaching out to him have unbalanced him like this? And his embrace …

Erestor stifled a quiet sob, walking faster still. With agitation he kneaded his fingers, cursing the fact that they just wouldn't stop shivering.

Then suddenly he stopped and blinked in surprise as the soft clattering of dishes and the buzz of many voices drifted through to his consciousness.  
He had not noticed that he stood merely some feet away from the doors to the dining hall.

Erestor breathed heavily as he stood there indecisively, unsure whether he could stand to stay in close proximity with others right now, accepting fleeting touches, speak the words they expected him to speak…  
But this was the first breakfast after their return, the last breakfast that lady Galadriel would attend as she planned to depart in the early morning hours the following day. His absence would already have been noticed and would be questioned. If he entered now, he would be too late, but so was Gandalf; he could apologize, maybe say he didn't sleep that well - which would get him compassionate glances and access to sleeping draughts, but he was sure they would not question him further. If he didn't appear at all, they would take a deeper interest and not leave him alone until they knew what had caused the stoic, conscientious advisor to stray from his duty.

They would question Gandalf and then the soldiers and learn of his shameful behaviour.  
He could not allow that. He didn't want Elrond and Glorfindel to know and have the image they had of him tainted so.

Carefully he let his hands travel over his robes for what seemed the hundredth time to straighten them out once again, taking deep calming breaths all the while and forcing all emotions from his face, even though he was sure that his eyes still held the turmoil he felt. And he willed the memories to just *leave*.

In that moment, Erestor froze and ironically his wish was granted as the images of the past faded into pale, wraithlike ghosts hovering threateningly over the sudden numbness in his mind, his eyes resting at his feet. His bare feet.

Erestor tried to swallow around the lump in his throat, but couldn't and distantly felt his eyes tearing up and he blinked the salty wetness away frantically. He was not even able to hate that display of weakness, though normally he would have. As it was his mind was frantically trying to decipher just why there was pale skin instead of soft leather, unable to form a coherent thought but 'How?'

He had forgotten. Gandalf and the soldiers had literally scared him away from his own rooms in such a haste that he had forgotten…

But he had not noticed, how could he *not* have noticed during the way to the hall?  
Erestor gasped for air wanting to banish the taste of bile, but he didn't manage that either.

Vaguely he was aware that he shouldn't stand here in the corridor mere feet away from the open doors to the dining hall where anyone could enter and see him in his dishevelled state. He must be giving such a foolish image and he would crumble if anyone saw him now.

'You already have.'  
Erestor closed his eyes. Yes, he had. First Tauron and then Gandalf had torn away all of his fragile self-control at last and now he was not even able to keep up the façade.  
But that didn't mean that anyone had to witness his graceless downfall.

Slowly, still feeling sick and confused and scared and … many other things he could not concentrate enough to identify, Erestor turned slowly on feet that were so unwilling to bear him now to return to his chambers; Gandalf or not; there was simply no other place he could go to.

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder and Erestor's mind went blank in the flaring panic. Only his body remembered Glorfindel's lesson's still and he whirled around, twisting sideways to escape the grasp that he was too startled, too far gone to recognize as light and merely attention-seeking.  
His attacker's flank was bared to him, the arm that had reached for him still raised, providing the needed opening for his fist.

* * *

Elrond watched with his brow knitted as Glorfindel kept drumming his fingers on the polished tabletop, ignoring the bowls of fresh, deliciously smelling bread, the plates of cheese and assorted cold meat and the various jars of jam and marmalade and honey that were laden on the shining wood; the Vanya was merely nursing a cu¬¬p of tea that Elrond had poured and sweetened for him - after one glance at him had made the Half-Elf realise that his husband was unlikely to abandon his current endeavour of agitating himself over his charge's absence and help himself to the calming, hot liquid on his own.

It wasn't that Elrond didn't share Glorfindel's concern over Erestor's absence - his chief advisor was notorious for his punctuality and strictness and had never been late once in 400 years whenever his presence was required; not a minute, let alone fifteen like he was currently.  
Well, maybe that one time when he had just entered the Half-Elf's household and had to say his goodbyes to the Sindar soldiers who had helped him escape. But aside from that exceptional one-time situation Elrond really couldn't recall just one incident where the black haired elf had strayed from his usual almost fanatical timeliness.

Still, it was safe to say that Glorfindel was not an elf easily put out of sorts. That the seneschal and captain of Imladris, the sworn protector of the peredhil family, who was usually so serene and in control and had faced balrogs, dragons and nazgûl in his long life should now show his unrest so openly over a petty matter such as tardiness did nothing to cool Elrond's own worry.

And he was. Worried that is. Valar, *everyone* who cared for the dark haired Sindar was worried; Lindir kept glancing to the hall's open doors as if expecting his friend to appear any moment, tensely ignoring every attempt to calm or comfort him that Haldir made; Arwen was worrying her lips with such vigour that Elrond was surprised it didn't bleed yet; Elladan and Elrohír continuously threw him questioning glances as if he could alleviate their concern like usual with a few well-thought up words of reason, or as if asking for the permission to seek the wayward chief advisor, which he was reluctant to give. Even Galadriel was particularly silent.  
And everyone else, while not concerned per se, was at least dying of curiosity. Disapprovingly Elrond watched them now and then glancing towards the high table, no doubt gossiping about the already developing rumours surrounding the ruling family of Imladris, one certain chief advisor and the fiasco on the High Pass and in Mirkwood. He dared not envision what monstrosities they would picture to each other, as the stories grew more colourful and *absurd* with each repetition to another's ear.

But there was something else causing his husband grief. If Glorfindel were merely concerned about Erestor, he'd simply search him and ensure his safety instead of venting his frustration and agitation on the table.

Of course Elrond and Glorfindel had, more than any of the aforementioned, been aware of just how close Erestor was to losing it, had been watching him do a precarious balancing act in trying to keep his control over his emotions. He had done quite remarkably but still the happenings in Mirkwood had taken their toll and Erestor had come dangerously close to breaking and consequently been particularly waspish, even more than usual.

And still that didn't explain Glorfindel's unusual turmoil. He had handled worse situations with more sangfroid and determination. After all it was not as if they had expected Erestor to just keep functioning as if nothing had happened: the healer in Elrond had even waited for Erestor to break down, had known that it must happen in one way or another for him to start healing truly and he had waited for any sign that Erestor was not only hiding all the horrors of the past weeks in a remote corner of his mind, where he could forget that they had ever happened, where they could smoulder and grow darker, colder and more fearsome until they would be able to really break him if ever they resurfaced.  
Elrond had hoped, though, that it wouldn't happen until they were settled again in Imladris, where he would have the chance to keep it all quiet and away from prying eyes. He had hoped to ease his young advisor into dealing with his memories. And so far it had seemed as if he would have the time to do so.

Next to him Glorfindel broke his steady drumming on the table and set his cup down with a sudden clang, crossing his arms instead and lean back in his seat, his whole body tense.

Gently, Elrond touched his husband's mind with an affectionate, hopefully reassuring, caress.  
_****Glorfindel, what is it?****_

_****Did it occur to you that after his rescue there was only one other night aside from the past one during which Erestor slept alone? And that was the night he was attacked by that scum who tried to drug him with the water from the Enchanted River.****_

Elrond furrowed his brow and bit his lip as the stinging realisation dawned that Glorfindel spoke the truth: Erestor had had his lord's family or Imladrian guards surrounding and following him afterwards constantly, that or the company of his brothers who were capable soldiers themselves.  
What if leaving him alone to face his nightmares had been too much too early? What if he had - finally - snapped?

_****It would be just like him to stay up the whole night, too frightened to sleep, too proud to seek someone out, listening to every noise in the silence of his rooms…****_

The Vanya ground his teeth audibly at the vision he had painted and scowled at the assembled elves enjoying their breakfast who were so utterly ignorant of what the generally disliked chief counsellor had gone through to keep them safe.

_****Do you think we should look for him?****_  
Elrond asked, keeping his scrutinizing, intense gaze trained on his husband. Glorfindel turned his head away to avoid looking at him and Elrond saw the muscles in his jaw flex. 'What has you so agitated, beloved?'  
For a long moment there was only a deep ache permeating through the bond, making the Half-Elf reach forward to let his fingers glide along his husband's upper arm to comfort him and reclaim his attention.

_****Shouldn't we ask Lindir or one of the twins to do it?****_

Elrond frowned, honestly surprised and taken aback by that question. _****Why? I don't think my sons have enough understanding of Erestor to handle him if the situation you described should actually be true. And Lindir equally has no experience in such matters.****_

Glorfindel curled his lips - whether in frustration or irritation at himself or Elrond, the Half-Elf couldn't tell. _****He … trusts them more.****_

Elrond nodded calmly, not because he believed it to be true but because he had used the same argument, trying to keep himself from rushing to the darkling's side whenever he had woken from his horrid nightmares during their travels and shivered from the remembered pain and fear in Elladan's arms. The eldest prince had found a common ground in the shared experience of their captivity at Fiondil's hands, which had brought forth a fragile bond of trust and friendship between them that Elrond and Glorfindel lacked.  
But no understanding. Elladan was as ignorant as he had ever been of Erestor's moods, of the way he reacted to certain situations, what made him uncomfortable and what caught his interest.

And Lindir, though he had been good for Erestor, had never been a particularly *calming* influence. Their friendship most often seemed to be based on the fact that Lindir was stubborn and unconventional enough to provoke a reaction of some kind out of Erestor - and of course on their shared love for music and the arts. Otherwise every discussion between the pair seemed to end in some argument or another and Elrond knew that the gentle minstrel was often blissfully and maybe intentionally unaware about his friend's darker streaks. There was for example the one incident when a relatively young artist from Mithlond with a notoriously high lifestyle had tried to court Imladris' chief minstrel only to find his reputation hopelessly slandered and himself suddenly abandoned by all his patrons only months after rumours about his alleged philander had reached the Last Homely House. Though it remained unproven, everyone but Lindir seemed to all but know Erestor to be the source of the defamation of character that had led to the youngling's downfall.

No, Lindir was not well-suited either for the task at hand. Furthermore, Elrond highly suspected that it was not a lack of trust but a misplaced self-consciousness and embarrassment at his deeds that had Erestor keeping Glorfindel and himself at a distance. The advisor had always tried his utmost to impress them both and earn their respect.  
_****I don't think so, no.****_ he told the Vanya. _****And even if it was true, they are not capable of giving what he needs at the moment.** **_Calmness, security and understanding not questions and pity.

Then Elrond cocked his head, regarding his husband curiously. _****Besides, weren't you the one confessing your love for him not even a month ago? Please don't tell me you changed your mind, because both of us know it would be a lie and either way: *I* didn't change my mind.****_

_****Of course not.****_ Glorfindel had hesitated only a moment too long, the muscle in his jaw flexing again as he ground his teeth.  
_****But this is not exactly the moment to pursue him.****_ At that, Elrond had to nod his agreement. Erestor had just been sexually assaulted, the last thing he needed right now was to be confronted with the romantic attention of elves whose station was too imposing for him to spurn them.  
**_**If that moment ever comes. I just want what's best for him, Elrond. And if he needs others to comfort him right now, then so be it.**_**

The Half-Elf studied his husband, surprised and a little bit taken aback again at the unusually barbed tone in the golden elf's voice. The self-contemptuous bitterness was so unlike the proud Vanya that Elrond couldn't really recall if and where he had seen it before.  
Surely not since Celebrían had left and Glorfindel had dealt with his grief and self-reproach because he hadn't been able to save her.

Was that it? Did Glorfindel feel guilty because he hadn't kept his charge safe like he had promised? He knew that his beloved had never been able to cope well with his own failures but that was a little bit too much, wasn't it?  
Affectionately, Elrond stroke the blonde's shoulder. He would need to address that issue soon, but not now.  
_****Come, beloved. We really should search him. And never think there was an elf in all of Imladris, Mithlond, Lóriën or Greenwood you were not worthy of, Gondolinion****_

Again, Glorfindel turned to him with a pained smile, still full of impatience and irritation.  
_****That's not it… it … doesn't really matter right now. Let me just get Arveldir and Tauron, they can help us search.** **_He said somewhat evasively. Not inclined to reveal to his husband what troubled him yet, he started looking for the two soldiers with ostentatious movements, even though he felt a little bit reluctant to take them along - especially Tauron was a little bit meddlesome at times, not least towards Erestor; but both of the soldiers had proven themselves trustworthy and discreet when necessary in the past and had more than once kept an eye on the little Mirkwood plague, making them familiar with the advisor's habits.

Glorfindel's eyes scanned the lower tables where his soldiers and their families sat together, a jovial, colourful lot. Usually he felt quite content to listen to the occasional, clear laughter and watch the light mood of those who wielded their bows and knives so grimly and deadly in battle beside him. Now his narrowed eyes swept over them with impatience and irritation, frowning as he saw Arveldir sitting there with his wife but noticed that Tauron and his usual cronies were not among them at the breakfast tables.  
And that certainly made him feel queasy. They had far too much interest in Erestor of a kind that - though innocent and well meant - his advisor most assuredly didn't want, like or need in any way right now.

"Elrond, something is not right. We should *definitely* search him."

Elrond nodded but looked at the Vanya inquisitively, wondering what his husband had discerned now. Well, at least it seemed that whatever it was, it had successfully distracted him from his earlier worries and helped him come to a decision of some kind. He made to stand.

"That won't be necessary" Galadriel cut in, raising her head for the first time in long minutes. Her gaze was unsmiling and hard, her eyes gleaming with an intelligence and wisdom that only millennia of experience, of both bitter failures and losses and great triumphs, could achieve. "He is standing in front of the doors."  
Then she looked down again, her eyes unseeing as if she was focusing all her attention inwards.

For a moment, both the Half-Elven and the Vanyarin lord stared at her in obvious bafflement, then with wary alertness. Erestor was a generally realistic elf; if he thought himself well enough to join them, then certainly he was? But Galadriel's voice was too severe for it to be good news.

"But you *should* go outside. He is not well." Galadriel continued gravely, looking up again with piercing eyes.

Elrond leaned forward, staring at his former mother-in-law with a gaze so intense that it made Galadriel recall perforce that this was the same elf that had battled Sauron's forces in Eregion even 2000 years prior to the Last Alliance where again he had faced those same evil, this time victoriously; the same elf that Ereinion Gil-Galad had named Viceroy and entrusted the greatest of the three elven rings to.  
Glorfindel next to him had stood also by now, and Galadriel was sure he would have rushed out for his charge if not for Elrond's unrelenting, hard grip on his forearm. All his earlier uncertainty and indecisiveness had fallen away, his ire and unrest pushed aside for now and for a moment Galadriel idly mused that it was no wonder the Witch-king had fled at her cousin's appearance at the battle of Fornost if this was anything like he had looked then: determined, unyielding and terrific in his power. A formidable pair, those two. 'Ai, Celebrían, you never had a chance.'

"What do you mean, Galadriel. I know you cannot read him. He always managed to prevent you from that. And most importantly: what ails him?" Elrond demanded, pulling the lady from her thoughts. He needed to know what he was dealing with once he stepped outside and if he could attain that information at the cost of lingering for a moment longer, he would do so.

"His control slipped just now." she murmured, keeping her voice soft and low, only for Elrond and Glorfindel to hear "I still cannot read his mind and I don't know what happened, but he is in turmoil: confused, scared, and angry."

Before she had spoken her last words, Glorfindel had ripped his arm free and stormed towards the open doors, Elrond on his heels.

Galadriel sighed as she was left to deal with the numerous inquiring glances directed her way not only from those sitting at the high table as more and more elves became aware of their lords' rushed departure while hoping that her cousin and former son-in-law would prove themselves sensible enough to handle Erestor's undoubtedly delicate state.

With emphasized leisureliness the Lady of Light stood, gesturing for her concerned and surprised looking Grandchildren to stay seated.  
"Please stay." She told the twins who had half risen from their seats. "And make sure that we are undisturbed during the next fifteen minutes."

Then she gestured for Haldir and her other galadhrim to remain seated also and gave her captain a pointed glance towards Lindir. The less people Erestor was confronted with now, the better.  
Gracefully she glided towards and through the hall's large wooden doors, closing them silently behind her.

* * *

Glorfindel didn't really know what he had expected to find outside in the corridor. For all that his Mirkwood plague had been through, he had always been in control: even knowing that he was about to let himself be caught by Orcs and faced hour after hour of the cruel torture, Erestor had still had the presence of mind to play him brilliantly, had stalled him, and tricked him, mixing his lies with just enough truth that Glorfindel, who was thousands of years older than the young chief advisor, believed them without questions.  
But then, only two weeks later, Erestor had been so small and panicked and broken when they finally had him safe in their midst and he had woken that first time. Since then Glorfindel was painfully aware that Erestor *could* lose his notorious control and now he knew exactly how he looked like when he did; and he was aware of how close Erestor had come to losing his control over and over again since then but still the idea of him doing it so completely unchecked was too abstract, too unreal to picture.

Certainly the image paled against the vision of Erestor's bowed form shuffling on his bare feet along the corridor in such a painful contrast to the usual confident and harsh stride of Imladris' chief counsellor.

"Erestor?" he heard Elrond's voice next to him, calm and soothing, as if he was talking to a spooked, injured animal.

Erestor kept walking as if he hadn't heard and Glorfindel more felt than saw Elrond moving forwards.  
"Erestor?" he called again, a little bit louder this time, and concern crept into his voice.

If the advisor had heard the Half-Elf, he ignored him. In actual fact it seemed as if he walked quicker instead of slowing his steps, his naked feet almost inaudible on the smooth wooden piles.

Elrond reached forward and his fingers had barely touched the rich robes of the chief advisor, when Erestor whirled around his left axis, ducking into the movement to burrow his fist into the Half-Elf's left flank. But the movement was erratic, lacking the Eldar's usual grace, and Glorfindel recognized it as one he had taught the younger elf himself so many years ago.  
Quickly he thrust his husband aside with his own body, grasped the wrist of Erestor's right arm and pushed it further into the gyration so that the fist missed the Half-Elf's torso and he used the strength that Erestor had put behind the blow to spin him around until the younger elf's back was pressed into Glorfindel, his fist held securely pressed against his owner's heaving chest.

The moment he had stabilized Erestor's stance, he let go and stepped out of reach with trained swiftness, watching as Erestor whirled around to face him, ready to fend him - his perceived attacker - off. It was obvious that the younger elf was in no condition to allow anyone to touch him in a prolonged manner right now.

Fervently Glorfindel wished for the thousandth time that he had killed that abomination of an elf when he had had the bloody chance. He liked to entertain the self-torturous image that it would have spared Erestor the trauma of a repeated near-death experience, and maybe, maybe he would not be in such a state now. At least he himself might feel better, knowing he had taken revenge for the horrors his Mirkwood plague was reliving now.  
Instead he had failed to heed his charges pleads for rescue and done *nothing* at all.

_****Are you all right?** **_Glorfindel asked his husband through their bond, but he kept his eyes trained on Erestor unswervingly as the dark elf scrambled backwards, and he lifted his hands palm upwards in a placating gesture; because he could do nothing else for lack of an idea as to what to do and because he felt as if he had not the right to even get closer.

Within a heartbeat, the realisation of what he had almost done dawned on Erestor's pale face and his expression - shaped by wild fear - shattered into a complex myriad of emotions, visible only for the split of a second before the young elf hid his face away with a horrified gasp, sagging against the corridor's wall.

"I am well, nothing happened." Elrond said clearly next to him, more for Erestor's benefit than to answer the Vanya's question; Glorfindel felt the gentle, mental caress as a response to his inquiry in a way that the young Sindar couldn't.

The reassurance didn't seem to reach Erestor's conscience or if it did, it hadn't the calming effect it was intended for. A shudder ran through Erestor's shoulders then spread through his torso, his arms, his hands. His legs went out under him and he slid down with his back against the wall.

Glorfindel rushed forward instinctively without thinking, ready to catch and steady his - whatever it was Erestor had become to him, but Elrond's slender hand reached out and stopped him, a warm, constant, unyielding pressure against his chest. _****Don't touch him right now!****_

Slowly Elrond glided forward until he knelt down still some feet away from Erestor's crouched form, tugging his robes out from under his legs so they wouldn't trap him and hinder his movements.  
"Erestor?" He whispered, his voice thick with the pain he felt at seeing his chief advisor so lost and broken. Glorfindel knew that his beloved deliberately let his emotions seep into his words, Elrond had always been able to keep them out at will or to give exactly what he wanted his opponent to hear. Now he wanted to show Erestor that he cared.  
"Please, what happened?"

The Half-Elf reached forward, letting his hand hover in the air half a meter away from the Sindar's head, not daring to touch after what had happened the last time.

Sure enough Erestor flinched away, his haunted eyes following the Half-Elf's movements out of the corner of his eye - he did not dare to face his lord as he started to murmur apologies over and over in a never-ending cascade. "Elbereth, I'm sorry! I didn't, really didn't want to … I'm so sorry, please, please forgive me! By your father's star, I'm sorry! Saes, goheno anim…"

"Cease that, Erestor!" Elrond ordered, the gentleness of his voice betraying the harsh words. But he lowered his hand, letting it rest on the floor a foot away from where Erestor sat. "*Nothing* happened. There is *nothing* to forgive. It was my own failure for startling you, I should have known better. I apologize for that."

A mad laugh gurgled from the advisor's lip with a sudden jolt of his shoulders, the desperate sound quickly transforming into violent sobs that shook the other's body. "You … I'm … I … did …"

Elrond felt helpless as he had to watch the younger elf weep, unable to touch him, to pull him into his arms for fear of making everything worse. Wordlessly he reached out to his husband in his mind and felt Glorfindel come up behind him to squeeze his shoulder for a short moment in comfort.  
"Erestor, please, let me help you." he whispered, reaching out again. It hurt as he was denied with a jerky shake of Erestor's head.

"Do you want me to fetch something from your apothecary?" Glorfindel asked quietly, wide, pained eyes trained on the black haired elf on the ground.

Erestor pressed a shivering hand against his white lips at hearing those words, feeling ghost hands tangling in his hair, pulling at the tresses unrelentingly, mercilessly, to tilt his head back. 'A Elbereth!'  
He clenched his mouth shut even though he knew someone would grasp his jaw in a moment and force it open. Soon he would feel the burning alcohol mixed with bitter herbal extracts pouring down his throat.  
With a sudden groan Erestor bent forward, vomiting stomach acid onto the piles.

Gentle fingers reached out to hold his hair back from his sweat damped face, making him scramble backwards, gasping for air. Never. Never again would he allow someone to drug him. Not ever. No.  
"No!"

"Hush, Erestor! It's alright." Glorfindel tried in a voice that was meant to soothe. Erestor only shook his head frantically, his eyes tearing up and his breathing laboured from vomiting.

Elrond gathered his robes, clearly about to move towards him.

"No! You're *not* coming near me!" Erestor exclaimed, shooting up from his crouched position but the lack of sleep, nutrition and the emotional exhaustion made him stagger backwards and fall against the wall with a dull thud.

"I won't." Elrond said calmly but emphatically and took a step backwards to lend weight to his words. "See?"

At a loss of what to do, Elrond turned his head for a moment, worried that someone might leave the hall any moment and stumble upon them trying to calm down a totally frantic and panicked Erestor. He didn't want anyone to see his advisor this distraught and vulnerable and he didn't want Erestor to be confronted with a whole frightening crowd of notoriously curious elves.  
Instead he saw Galadriel's solemn, tall form leaning against the closed doors as a silent guard, the hands behind her back keeping them closed. She gave him a curt nod, as much to tell him to proceed as to assure him that she would not allow anyone to disturb them.

Somewhat relieved, he turned back to Erestor, who still leaned against the wall, fighting against the vertigo, eying them with as much wariness as fear and dawning shame.  
"Let us escort you to the healing wing."

"I'm not ill!" Erestor hissed hoarsely.

"To your chambers then." Where Elrond could oversee his advisor and hopefully instill some sleeping herbs into him. But first he had to get him away from the hall: within minutes the corridors would be swarming with elves.

To his surprise, Erestor looked mildly horrified and shook his head vigorously.

"Then come." Glorfindel said, gesturing for Erestor to follow him with a nod of his head in the direction of Elrond's and his chambers. He did not extend his hand, knowing the other wouldn't take it in his current condition and might even bolt again.  
But inwardly all the pain Glorfindel felt at seeing Erestor like this turned to fiery rage. Something had happened in the darkling's chambers. He couldn't believe that mere memories had put the young elf into such a state, never. If someone had attacked him, he swore by all that was good and holy, he would call for a chase that would rival Orome's hunts on Morgoth's creatures and when he got hold of whoever had done this to his little Mirkwood plague, he would flay them alive, inch by inch.

Meanwhile Elrond turned to the Lady of Light. "Galadriel, if it doesn't inconvenience you, would you mind getting Arwen so that she can have someone clean this up?" He vaguely gestured towards the vomit.

"Of course." Galadriel replied quietly, her eyes seeking his out. _****He didn't sleep at all, Elrond. Then this morning he tried to face all his memories at once. He was already pretty far gone when some soldiers showed up and Gandalf. They seem to have pushed him further inadvertently. At this point I can't make much sense from his scattered thoughts. But all his mental barriers are down. Be careful of everything you do and say. You don't know how he'll react.****_

_****I will.** **_"Thank you, Galadriel." With that he raised his hand to cover his heart and bowed his head to her in respect for a moment.

Then he gazed at his chief advisor, who had detached himself finally from the corridor wall's support and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Erestor seemed more composed now, his tears having subsided finally. But with his eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying and his arms hugging his own chest tensely he still seemed like a wounded deer about to bolt.

Erestor took a step back, away from them.  
"I am…" he croaked, hoarse and worn from his weeping and he cleared his throat before trying again "I am sorry for attacking you, my lord. I don't know what possessed me."

Another step.

"I'll just…"

"Daro, Erestor!" Elrond ordered with a clear voice that he knew Erestor as his chief advisor would not dare to disobey.  
"I told you not to concern yourself with this. You are not to blame and you should know that I can't let you leave on your own right now in your current condition. Your own rooms, the healing wing or Glorfindel's and my chambers. Either will be fine with me. But I and Glorfindel will accompany you. I promise not to make you take any drug or medicine and we won't force you to talk. But you will eat and you will rest."

Erestor paled a little bit and grit his teeth to keep himself from worrying his lip. The idea of following the two elven lords somewhere or to have them follow him was not frightening per se, now that he had calmed a little bit. But the idea of having them in his chambers or to go with them to theirs…  
He could have returned to his chambers on his own and face Gandalf and the soldiers who might still be waiting there for him to return. But if the two lords accompanied him and saw them… the conclusions they might draw!  
He equally couldn't let himself be put to bed in Elrond's and Glorfindel's chambers, by Elrond and Glorfindel. Elrond. And. Glorfindel. That was just … Valar, in his present condition he might just say something unfortunate and endlessly stupid. And he couldn't just take the torture of seeing the rooms of the couple he would never be part of but loved nonetheless.

Great. Now his tears were welling up again. He blinked for a moment and sniffed.  
"The healing wing." he mumbled, at least it would provide a highly impersonal surroundings. But by Este, how he hated healing chambers. White, overly clean and sterile rooms where some unknown person would stuff drugs down one's throat, forcefully if necessary. He had had enough of that in his life.

* * *

**CHAPTER END NOTES**

saes ~ please  
goheno anim ~ I'm sorry, forgive me  
daro ~ stop, halt


	7. A Soothing Balm

**CHAPTER 7: A Soothing Balm**

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES**

**SCRIPTS:**  
'Thoughts'; _~visions~_; _****mind speech****_; -l-_Letters_-l-

* * *

The healing wing of Imladris was as beautiful a place as any in the Last Homely House. Light flooded the spacious rooms that opened towards the valley beyond the elven city, where sprawling balconies provided the sore eye with the breath taking view of the tree-covered lands beyond, which already started to glow luminously with the golden and red colours of autumn, the scenery crossed by the distant and feint silver lines of the Bruinen; the river that guarded the Hidden Valley so effectively and yet unobtrusively.  
Inside, delicate wooden carvings of plants and elegant flowing structures interplayed cleverly with the silken and woollen textures of blankets, cushions, curtains and drapes, all in mellow tones of earth and sky, the rooms' beautiful décor making every effort to ease the minds and spirits of those in need to occupy them.

Most of those chambers were in close vicinity to the healers' staffrooms which formed the wing's centre and as such were easily accessible for the healers in case of an emergency and also for the maids who kept them clean and in order. There were, however a few that were more secluded and more luxurious for rather selective patients who treasured their privacy - including Elrond's whole family - and who occupied them whenever their condition was stable enough to not require constant supervision. Both Elladan and Elrohír had stayed in them more frequently and more prolonged than Elrond wished to remember and Glorfindel had also inhabited them more than once.

One of those was the chamber in which Elrond had treated his wife after her torture once her condition was stable enough to allow it.

And one of those chambers was now to host the chief advisor of Imladris for at least some hours and like Celebrían he was not majorly there to recover from a physical wound.

Elrond hated those analogies, though his thoughts unavoidably turned back to them nonetheless; he didn't voice the fear that Erestor might never recover, might eventually fade from his ordeal, but it was there. After all, Erestor, too, had been violated and Elrond knew of no case an elf had survived such a traumatic event let alone not needed to sail. And after Erestor's current breakdown both possibilities seemed closer than ever. It would just be one analogy more, one too many.

At that thought his hand clamped down on the heavy fabric of the curtains he was drawing close to bar the room against the warm sunlight and grant Erestor some hours of restful sleep, unable to proceed with the simple action for in that very moment Elrond almost dreaded shutting out the light and being left in the half-darkness. He felt as if he'd suffocate on it.

Why did every small victory they scrambled for have to be so hard-won with Erestor, only to be so fragile and uncertain even then?

Every mental wall that had broken down had not left Erestor more approachable, just more hurt and vulnerable; every secret they had wormed out of him had come at the price of lost innocence, trust and more gaping wounds ripped into his mind; every little repose had to be enforced, every offer of help repeated and repeated over and over again until It was accepted with acidic wariness that seemed to eat at Erestor further…

It had taken quite a lot of gentle prodding and persuading until Erestor had eaten at least some of what Elrond had had a maid bring for him and even more to convince him to rest in the comfort of the quite large bed.  
Erestor had only yielded and promised to do as he was told when Elrond and Glorfindel had in exchange assured him that they would leave him alone and give him the privacy he seemed to need so desperately. And though they had reserved themselves the right to check on him at any time they had - without asking any questions - indeed planned to step out of the chamber once they had made sure that the advisor was comfortable.

Now only moments later the very idea seemed almost dangerous in itself. What if Erestor laid hands upon himself? And even if nothing that dramatic would happen, if they gave him enough time, maybe Erestor would simply bury all his hurt under layers and layers of cold and oblivion, and he would be unreachable once more.

And yet, if he broke his promise and pressed him now, what trust Erestor had in him might just turn to frost … or into disdain, which would be harder to bear than anything else. No, that was certainly not an option, not only because of the gentle affection he felt that sought an equal response, but also because he knew as a healer from long years of treating former soldiers and witnesses of wars and other traumatic events that patients would cope better if they did not speak about it and were left alone for at least one day to come to terms with whatever caused their grief.

So he just needed to keep his young, stubborn advisor safe for the day - a blood-curdling task, if one took the last weeks as a basis of comparison - and hope to be able to breach his newly erected walls come evening, or the following morning.

Elrond sighed heavily, closed the one remaining curtain and turned around to face Erestor, who sat on the edge of the bed. The young chief advisor stared into nothingness, his expression a thin blanket of ice that covered the emotional chaos beneath. One hand clawed into the wrist of the other with which he absentmindedly rubbed over a point on his stomach; the point that Elrond knew where an almost horizontal pink scar was hidden beneath the rich fabric and marked the place where Fiondil's knife had pierced him.

_****Elrond, we cannot possibly leave him alone, promise or not.****_ Glorfindel addressed him from his position at the door, surprising his husband enough to break his assessment of Erestor's condition and glance over at him. The balrog slayer had been silent and reserved the whole morning long, observing more than acting since the moment they had led an equally silent, almost lethargic Erestor into the healing wing.  
For a short moment Elrond wondered again what had his beloved so … so subdued, almost - he would need to speak to him at length later - then he looked back to Erestor; Glorfindel was right, the advisor was getting more and more agitated again, fidgety. If the reason therein was the imminent solitariness he faced when his lords would leave then indeed they could not; but it might as well stem from their prolonged presence and his fervent wish for solitude and then Erestor would not possibly be able to rest if they stayed close; and he needed to rest.

'There is no other way of finding out except for asking', he thought as he turned to the dark elf again. "Erestor?"  
He paused, waiting for Erestor to meet his gaze, but the advisor merely cocked his head almost unnoticeable towards his lord as a sign that he had heard him, keeping his eyes fixed on a point on the far wall.

"Erestor, Glorfindel and I shall stay in the next chamber for a while; at least until you fall asleep?" Elrond gestured towards a corner in the southern wall of the room that led to a smaller staffroom for the healers tending to the patients in this part of the healing wing.  
He had known that his advisor would require some supervision at any rate; or at the very least that he would need to watch over him for his own sake and therefore had chosen this very chamber for Erestor, one of the few in this part of the healing wing that had such a connection to a healers' room.

Nevertheless Elrond carefully voiced his proposal as a question to give Erestor the chance of refusing while closely monitoring his reaction. If the advisor showed even the least sign of discomfort at the idea, Elrond was prepared to relent or to compromise, and if not…

Erestor glanced up, meeting first Elrond's then Glorfindel's eyes for only a second or two, before lowering his gaze again. But the short moment had sufficed to reassure the older elven lords: the deeper lines on the younger elf's brow had smoothed somewhat and the heavy veil upon his dark orbs had lifted if only a little bit at the relief he tried to hide but which was so obvious.  
But then he spoke, his defiant voice barely above a hiss: "I am fine, my lord. I certainly don't need any supervision."

Almost, Elrond sighed heavily in exasperation: Erestor was indeed a contradiction in itself, his pride not allowing him to accept what he needed. And that's when Elrond had just started to think they were finally making some progress; though maybe he should have known that it wouldn't be that easy… this whole endeavour was indeed proving to be a maddeningly desperate fight for every small step forward.  
Out of the corner of his eyes, Elrond saw his husband shaking his head with a resigned but gentle smile so full of exasperated affection towards the stubborn advisor that Elrond's lips unwillingly curled into an amused half-smile. If Glorfindel would just make up his own mind!

And if Erestor would swallow his pride just this once and accept their help without too much contradiction… but he knew those were but idle, pointless wishes: both the elf he had loved for centuries and the elf that was just beginning to unknowingly worm his way into his heart were often stubborn beyond any reason. One was usually well-advised to just ignore those streaks of obstinacy.  
And so Elrond merely smiled indulgently at his advisor, getting an intense scowl in return.  
"Please change into the nightgown, Erestor" he gently said, once more gesturing to where he had laid it out on the soft bed earlier "we'll return in a few minutes."

For a moment Elrond wondered if his advisor was aware of the amused sparkle that must have lit his eyes at Erestor's defiant glare, because his cheeks flushed becomingly and he turned his face away.  
Shaking his head, Elrond walked towards the door leading to the adjoining staffroom with measured steps, indicating for Glorfindel to follow him with a graceful wave of his hand. When the no sound of steps could be heard, he turned once more to see Glorfindel still pausing at the door.

Raising one eyebrow, Elrond met the poised yet oddly guarded gaze with his intent one.  
_****Come, beloved. We need to talk.****_

* * *

Glorfindel kneeled in front of the chimney in the healers' staffroom, having just lit a fire to heat some water for whatever it was Elrond intended to put in there. He was thankful for the excuse to evade his husband's observant gaze, which he knew was directed at him every once in a while as his husband rummaged through the cupboards.

Sometimes he wished that hiding his emotions would come to him as easily as it did to Elrond, or Erestor for that matter. Maybe it would have prevented him from maneuvering himself into his current uncomfortable situation. It was not like he wanted to keep secrets from his husband, he trusted the Half-Elf more than anyone else, knew that he wasn't going to be judged for his transgressions, whatever they were.  
But he was not yet sure what consequences he would need to draw from them, and if he had the right to draw them, for they would affect his husband also. Glorfindel knew what the Half-Elf would tell him, knew the arguments with which he would try to comfort and reassure him, but he didn't want to hide behind them and he might, given the chance. After all, he knew himself best.  
He had failed so badly in the one moment that he must not have…

Heavily, Glorfindel sighed and stood, dusting off his trousers of non-existent dirt until he felt his husband's slender fingers on the small of his back and he righted himself, allowing the healer to glide his hands along his ribcage to embrace him from behind. Raising his own arms and crossing them over his chest, Glorfindel started to rub the limbs of his lover tenderly and felt Elrond leaning forward to rest his head on his shoulder.  
For some moments they simply stood like that, listening to the soft crackling of the flames that drove the remaining moisture from the wood, and listening to the faint rustling of clothes that drifted through the ajar door of the adjoining room, as Erestor divested himself of his robe, finally.

_****Will you not confide in me, Glorfindel?****_

The Vanya closed his eyes, barely suppressing a sigh. Of all the ways Elrond could have started their conversation he just had to use this one. He could have asked straightforwardly, demandingly, he could have beaten around the bush and tried to worm his beloved's secrets out of him, he could have emotionally blackmailed him openly, using their usually very open and trusting handling of past trying situations as reference. Everything but that subtle, sad and troubled tone of voice, that plea to trust in him.

The Half-Elf didn't do it on purpose, that Glorfindel knew. Elrond was not someone who would manipulate those he loved so. And that made it even worse.  
Aware of it or not, up to this day Elrond always needed to know the nature of Glorfindel's problems whenever they became pressing enough to haunt the captain of Imladris even after he retired for the day. Not knowing of them instilled in Elrond the fear that he might lose is loved ones, like he had lost his wife; one of the few perceptible scars left by Celebrían's ordeal. The Half-Elf still thought that he might have spared her the torture if he had pressed her harder about what had plagued her.

How could he add to that, knowing Elrond would worry more and more until he was told the truth?  
And part of him wanted to confide in someone, too; and he loved Elrond, trusted him. He was the obvious choice…  
But where to start?  
_****Please.****_He heard his husband plead in his mind and felt him tighten his hold on him. Reassuringly he squeezed the other's upper arms for but a second before he freed himself from the embrace and turned to face the Half-Elf.

_****It is because of Erestor, is it not? Because of what happened in Mirkwood?****_Elrond inquired, keeping to the mind speech for now so that the advisor in the adjoining room would not hear them.

_****It is.****_ Glorfindel answered, wondering how he should word his thoughts. He didn't want to explain himself, though he might be able to, didn't want to find excuses for his actions and bring them forth like some criminal trying to receive clemency or obtain an acquittal. There was no need for any undue sugar coating, nor did he have a right to it. _****I did wrong by him, Elrond, accused him of wanting to hinder us, all but accused him of treason; I sent him home with guards, Elrond, not to assure his safe return but to make sure that he wouldn't flee and stab us in the back! And I claim to love him? I was his protector for centuries for Valar's sake; how could I do all that and then forsake him at the first opportunity to do so? It is hypocrisy of the worst form!****_  
Angrily, the captain clenched his fist and turned towards the door where he heard the soft sigh of the mattress as Erestor laid down.  
_****And then when Tauron and I found him, panicked and naked and about to be abducted into that damned forest, I … Elbereth, Elrond, you should have seen his face: his eyes pleaded with me to help him and I just stood there. I stood there and did nothing! I could have shot his captor in the leg, in the shoulder… incapacitate him in some way even without killing him, but I did not! I was frozen and only able to think that I couldn't murder that elf.****_  
Glorfindel shook his head, glad that he didn't have to say those words out loud; his voice might have given out.  
_****And then Erestor realized it. His eyes, Elrond, they keep haunting me! He knew I wouldn't lift a finger to safe him and I could see his despair. But still I didn't move, not until they vanished into that tunnel.****_ Slowly, he turned towards Elrond again, his eyes bitter.  
_****What right do I have to obtrude myself upon him now after all that?****_

Quietly Elrond stepped up to the blonde ellon, raising one hand to caress his cheek.  
_****Do you really think that, mallind în?****_He asked gently, the hardness in his husband's gaze his sole answer.

_****Then you lie to yourself. You never truly believed that he betrayed us, you kept on doubting even though Erestor worked so hard on having you mistrust him. And even through all that doubt, when you could have trusted Erestor blindly, you behaved like I would have expected you to: I would be deeply troubled if my seneschal and the captain of my forces was so naïve as to be confronted with so much, weighty evidence and still ignore it because of his feelings.  
If one day you were confronted with a similar situation, captain, I would expect you to act no different from what you have! Is that understood?****_

Elrond asked, adamantly waiting for his husband's rigid nod. It would do no one any good if Glorfindel started to let his feelings seep into decisions made as the captain of Imladris, warping his rationality, influencing his judgement. He had never done so in the past and just because he had acted with precaution and sent home Erestor on a not so faint suspicion of betrayal he should not start to let subjectivity affect his decisions. Elrond as his lord would not allow him to do so. After all he had not openly accused Erestor even with the proof he had seen and damaged his reputation but instead handled the situation quite diplomatically if what he had heard was true. And at that very moment all evidence had been against Erestor.

Gently but emphatically, Elrond grasped and squeezed both his husband's hands. _****And you may have made a mistake when you came upon Erestor. But both of us know why that happened.****_  
With that Elrond raised the hand on which Glorfindel's wedding band shimmered, and kissed the finger tips tenderly. The kinslaying at Alqualonde was one of the darkest chapters in the history of elves and it had left its mark on all who had witnessed the atrocity.  
With those gruesome images in his mind, it was no surprise that Glorfindel was more reluctant than others to raise his weapon against a fellow elf.

_****Melethron, no one blames you. You did not expect to be confronted with such a situation ever again and your hesitation is understandable. Do not take on guilt that is not yours to bear. Erestor lives, that is all that matters.****_  
Shaking his head, Glorfindel looked aside. Elrond simplified the situation too much: as the captain of Imladris, as the one in the position to help, he should not have let his past interfere, he should have been the one in control.

_****Glorfindel,****_ Elrond started again, knowing the direction his husband's thoughts would take. _****No one is perfect; no one expects you to be perfect, except you yourself. People only expect you to learn from your mistakes, and you will because you always do: I have never seen you make the same mistake twice. From now on you'll know how to react accordingly in a similar situation, how to defuse it without having to kill.****_

Still downcast Glorfindel lowered his head. He felt that Elrond was playing the incident down for his sake but at least his husband was not denying that he had made a grievous mistake when freezing like he had.

Tenderly Elrond took the blonde's chin and turned his face to look at him.  
_****Glorfindel, do not let past errors cage you; strive for amendment instead and learn from your mistakes.  
There will come other situations at some point in the future when you will make ill-conceived decisions that prove to be wrong afterwards. You will achieve nothing if you bury yourself beneath your guilt each time!  
For now console yourself with the fact that nothing irreparable happened: Erestor survived; you yourself saved him from Fiondil's knife when the spiders attacked; both of us together saved him from his wounds. He lives, he lies just there****_ Elrond gestured towards the still open door to the advisor's healing chamber _****waiting for us to return, trusting us to keep him safe and help him heal. If nothing more, I want to do just that, but not alone.****_

"I love you, Glorfindel." Elrond whispered, leaning forward to press a short, gentle kiss on his husband's lips.

"I love you, too." Glorfindel whispered back with a self-deprecating smile. 'If only you were not so damn manipulative!'  
But he didn't complain or resist as Elrond tugged him along, pressed a heavy stoneware bowl into his hands and told him to set it on Erestor's nightstand, his mind still deep in thought.

* * *

Hiding his embarrassment beneath a thick layer of obviously factitious indifference, Erestor had almost completely ignored the two elven lords as they returned to his chamber, lying rigidly on the bed instead, burrowed under warm blankets with his gaze stubbornly fixed on a point on the wall in front of him. But it might have also been his exhaustion and lack of sleep that had him so unresisting to their presence, Elrond mused. The stubbornness in his onyx eyes might also stem from his fight against his fatigue.

And yet, it seemed that no amount of embarrassment or exhaustion could truly suppress the advisor's paranoid streak: although he had not batted an eye when Glorfindel set down the heavy stone bowl onto the beautifully crafted nightstand, which almost seemed too fragile to carry it's new burden, his sleep-drugged gaze was still piercing as it bored itself into Elrond's when the Half-Elf walked up to Erestor's side and threw a handful of fresh leaves into the hot water in the bowl before stirring the liquid with a thin wooden rod.

Elrond smiled gently in response to his advisor's mistrust, relieved that the younger elf had calmed enough to be rational again - even though obviously not rational in his suspiciousness - and was quick to reassure his patient.  
"Athelas, Erestor" he said in his soothing, warm voice.  
And indeed a few moments later the air filled with the herb's typical sweet, sharp scent.  
"It will alleviate any headache you might be hiding from me." It was impossible to overhear the knowing, affectionate smile in the healer's voice that made Erestor avert his eyes in irritation and not a small amount of awkwardness.

But after a moment Elrond watched with satisfaction how Erestor closed his still red-rimmed eyes with a soft sigh as the relaxing scent filled his nose and the lines on his brow smoothed out. The herb was already doing its work – both Elrond and Glorfindel felt it as well – refreshing the mind and calming the advisor's anxiety enough for him to find some hours of restful sleep.

"Losto, Erestor! Avo-oltho o dae vanwië dîn; ah oltho o cuile ar cala ar lalad! Ná Irmo veria ar tegi ôlech ar anna i îdh achen."

And with those soft-spoken words that to a mortal's ear might be humming with what in their nascence they labelled as elven magic and with the scent of Athelas a soothing balm on his troubled mind, Erestor fell asleep.

**CHAPTER END NOTES**

mallind în ~ my golden heart.  
melethron ~ lover  
Losto, Erestor! Avo-oltho o dae vanwië dîn; ah oltho o cuile ar cala ar lalad! Ná Irmo veria ar tegi ôlech ar anna i îdh achen. ~ Sleep, Erestor. Don't dream of shadows of the past; dream of life and light and laughter! May Irmo protect and guide your dreams and give you rest.


	8. Worth Fighting For

**CHAPTER 8: Worth Fighting For**

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES**

**SCRIPTS:**  
'Thoughts'; _~visions~_; _****mind speech****_; -l-_Letters_-l-

* * *

Haldir smiled wistfully into the warm sunlight bathing his face as it flowed through the strong, old oak tree's leaves that were already taking on a soft golden hue, letting everything beneath it glow. It seemed to lend an ever shifting crown of light to the white haired minstrel who leaned against the trunk, looking down at the captain's face resting in his lap. Haldir could not help but think that this fair, bright being should rightfully wear a crown like that.

And judging from the carefree expression that very elf wore and the light tune he hummed, it had been a good decision to take Lindir outside and away from the tense atmosphere that had not brightened even after lord Elrond had reappeared to inform them that Erestor was resting under Glorfindel's watchful surveillance. The Half-Elf had merely told them that the advisor had had a restless night and that he was not to be disturbed.  
That had only served to heighten Lindir's concern especially when he heard how his lord sent a servant for Gandalf and a guard called Tauron, to escort them to his study. His voice had been like mithril, so cold and hard, as he called to the soldier and his Maia friend, who had both not yet been seen that morning and Haldir suspected from the lord's behaviour and deep frown that they were somehow involved in whatever had happened to Erestor that morning.  
Honestly, the advisor must be drawing misfortune, there was just no other explanation…

As there was nothing to do for his white-haired love in the houses of Imladris but to agitate himself over rumours, Haldir had led him into the beautiful, yet in his opinion too neat gardens. Nature should stay natural after all. Completely. There was no need to meddle with the lady Yavanna's work.

It was doing him a world of good, Haldir thought, as he saw the soft lips above him spread into a serene smile that forced his hummed little tune to a halt and then Lindir bowed down to plant a kiss on his lips, sweet and light, a kiss that Haldir strained his neck to deepen.

Bringing a calloused hand up to a lily-white cheek, he kept the minstrel's lips locked to his as best as he could while he slowly sat up and came to kneel in front of the elf that had so mesmerized him. Haldir felt Lindir's mouth curl beneath his own as the other tried with much effort not to break out into a smile, and failed.  
Smirking back, Haldir leaned forward, gently guiding the other down to lie back onto the grass until they lay chest to chest, flush against each other. Propped up on his elbows, the captain brought both his hands up to cup Lindir's face and force him to encounter his gaze – not that he would have needed to.

"You've entranced me." Haldir accused in a hushed voice, because the moment seemed just so fragile that louder words might shatter it completely. And though he still smiled playfully down at Lindir, his serious eyes belied his jesting words. He really did mean them.

He didn't know if Lindir was aware of that, or if he merely ignored them out of embarrassment. Either way the minstrel decided to continue the banter.  
"Not as you have enchanted me, my fair galadhrim. It must be because of how naturally our kin from the Golden Wood take to the fading ways of sorcery." Lindir chuckled, cocking his head at the silver haired elf.

Haldir raised an eyebrow. "The fading ways of sorcery? More likely the old knowledge our blithe cousins of Imladris tend to forget so easily."

"Huh. I would have you know that our lord, the famous lore-master…"

"… Is the founder of Imladris and has therefore had much experience before coming into this isolated valley and allowing others to naively bask in his protection and thrive under his wise leadership."  
For a moment Haldir feared he had gone too far with his teasing as Lindir cocked his head to stare haughtily down at him.

"Isolated? I never believed one of the galadhrim to be uneducated but it becomes clear now that I should adapt that illusion to the darker truth of reality. Do me a favour and look at a map of the travelling routes between the lands east and west from the Misty Mountains once in a while and take note on where they pass by, oh mighty captain!"  
Laughter danced in Lindir's fair eyes and rang with his words like bells and Haldir fell silent, ignoring the teasing to revel in the moment.

"I wish you could come with me." Haldir murmured more to himself than to the minstrel but the moment the words left his lips, he regretted them instantly as they clouded Lindir's gaiety and he averted his eyes.

"I can't. I told you so."

Almost cringing, Haldir pecked the other's brow in apology, softly stroking his cheeks with his fingertips.  
"I know." He said, trying to get back that smile. "It was nothing but idle wishing."

Lindir nodded and turned to him again, but the joyful expression was gone.  
Haldir sighed, he hadn't meant to ruin their last hours but sometimes he felt that Lindir's behaviour was hard to predict. That was, in a way, one of the traits that had endeared the minstrel to him, the uniqueness that made him unpredictable for those who didn't know him well.  
With time he planned to change that, but as for now he had another concern to address, one that he had not wanted to bring up before and dampen the mood, but as that seemed to be the case already, he might as well do it now.  
"I know that you are needed here, that we might not see each other again for years to come. But in the meantime…"

"Not even two."

Surprised, Haldir blinked questioningly down.

"Lady Arwen plans a journey to the Golden Wood the summer after next. She herself offered me to accompany her. So it would not even be two years from now on."  
Lindir fidgeted beneath him, playing with the hem of Haldir's sleeve, making the captain bend down once more to kiss his cheek, this time with a sincere smile.

"That is wonderful to hear!" He said as he righted himself again, but almost immediately grew serious once more. He would not allow Lindir to distract him from the point he wanted to bring across.  
"And until then I want you to promise me not to lose yourself."

Frowning in incomprehension, Lindir looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

"Lindir, you … you are sometimes too generous. Don't throw everything into this friendship of yours without keeping back enough to sustain what and who you are."

"Haldir, not you, too…" Lindir tried to interrupt weakly, his voice weary, and Haldir was swift to continue.

"It is no secret that you had to endure much more opposition than him for the sake of this friendship, you gave up so much for him, Lindir, more than Erestor ever had to, more than you ever got back."

Angered, Lindir pushed against the marchwarden's broad chest, wanting to get some space between himself and the irritating blonde.  
Immediately Haldir rolled away and sat up, but his intent gaze was still directed at Lindir, who had swiftly stood and glared down at him.

"Did it ever once occur to you that maybe I wouldn't have had to give up anything at all if not for the intolerance and stupidity and the utter unbelievable shallowness of my former so called friends?"  
Lindir hissed. "I merely stopped wasting all of my time on people who only pretended to be my friends as long as it wasn't too arduous for them. And because they hated the very air Erestor breathed without caring to look any closer and because they all envied the esteem that the lords Elrond, Dírhael and Glorfindel held for him and which they couldn't for the life of them understand, I was ever at odds with them about him. If rumours have it now that Erestor selfishly took all I offered without giving anything back in return, then let me assure you: that is a lie!"

"Peace, Lindir. I didn't mean to aggrieve or offend you or lord Erestor. But you must admit that your friendship…"

"Haldir!" The minstrel interrupted, his voice cutting and full of an unspoken warning. "Do not presume to know anything about the friendship between Erestor and myself, because you do not! You have known me for barely a month and you have never seen me interact with him. You don't know *anything* about our relationship." He said testily, before making a visible effort to calm himself.

"If anything, then Erestor and I have always been honest with each other. Brutally honest, that might be true, but at least we could always trust each other to speak one's mind. There is none other of my acquaintances I can say the same of, except you, maybe."  
With that Lindir's eyes gentled and he kneeled down once more in front of the blond marchwarden. "I know that you were only trying to look out for me, but with Erestor there really is no need for any concern. Despite all the rumours surrounding him, he is very considerate of his friends' wellbeing and he tries not to hurt those he has affection for. "

"I am sorry, Lindir. I really meant no offence." Haldir said honestly, a little bit unnerved at the  
aggressiveness with which the minstrel defended his friend.

Lindir gave him a half-smile "None was taken. I know he often seems cold, but he really is not. And although he has no mentionable social intelligence beyond that which is necessary to gauge the behaviour and intentions of his opponents in council, which can admittedly make dealing with him rather difficult, I do know how to take care of myself."

Taking the minstrel's hand, Haldir pressed a kiss onto the slender fingers. "Please make sure that you do. That is all I ask."

"I will, Haldir, I promise to be a little bit selfish, starting now! I want to enjoy these hours we have and not speak of this any longer."

"And of what would you like to speak then?" Haldir asked with a half-smirk.

"Why do we have to speak at all?" Lindir whispered and this time it was him who pushing Haldir to the ground with a determined, predatory grin of a kind that Haldir had never seen on his gentle lover before and which quickened his breath before that, too, was stolen along with all his concerns by the soft lips moving persistently against his, and the tongue that begged too sweetly for entrance to refuse.


	9. Mind Me

**CHAPTER 9: Mind Me  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES**

**SCRIPTS:**  
'Thoughts'; _~visions~_; _****mind speech****_; -l-_Letters_-l-

* * *

Glorfindel casually leaned on the wall at one of the high windows of the healing wing, his tall frame blocking out the red-golden light of the setting sun which fell through a cleft between the heavy drapes and the window frame with one hand as he looked outside, watching the light retreat from the valley in a fading, glorious kaleidoscope of oranges, reds and gold.

He felt calmer now, more peaceful after almost eight hours of watching over his charge, Erestor's deep breathing being like a soothing balm, interrupting and quieting his thoughts whenever he got too lost in contemplation until finally after some hours he came to the conclusion that Elrond *might* be right in saying that his errors were remediable and as such shouldn't impair all of his future dealings with Erestor. Though whatever that would mean in regards to said elf would have to be decided by the advisor himself. He could only offer his friendship once more and if that yielded fruit someday, maybe Elrond, Erestor and Glorfindel could even become something more, if Erestor was at all interested, that is. But right now, that seemed too unlikely a goal to even contemplate for longer than a moment.

Behind him, he heard a slight rustle as Erestor moved in his bed, trying to get comfortable once more. In the past hours he would then release a deep breath, followed by some more noises as the younger elf adjusted his pillow to his liking with small movements of his head. The little routine had raised an affectionate smile from Glorfindel each time he had seen it and once more he turned around just to be a silent witness once more.  
But this time the expected movements didn't come. Erestor lay facing him, seemingly relaxed in slumber; his breathing was even and deep, but as Glorfindel watched him, he saw that each time after releasing his breath the young advisor was just a tiny bit quicker to draw it in again, almost as if the intake barely sufficed to sustain him. 'My dear Erestor, are you feigning?' he wondered with no small amount of amusement.

Languidly, Glorfindel strolled over to the resting form on the bed that seemed so much smaller and less imposing with the lack of formal robes. As he came closer, he let his eyes roam over the advisor's elegant features that held a youthfulness and innocence that Erestor otherwise lacked or at least concealed. 'A pity, that!' the captain thought.

As he watched him, Glorfindel could indeed observe the tell-tale signs of feigned sleep: the forced slow breathing, the eyes no longer clouded in a relaxed restive state, the eyelids shivered slightly with the strain of trying to appear totally in reverie, but as Glorfindel stood next to the bed Erester closed his eyes completely.  
"Good morning, Erestor. Or good evening, actually." Glorfindel murmured, unable to suppress a smirk as he saw Erestor's chest stop moving for several moments, the advisor holding his breath in surprise and obviously contemplating whether his charade stood any chance if continued.

"You have slept the day away." Glorfindel teased as he strode over to the windows and pulled the curtains open again, letting the soft golden glow of the setting sun fall into the room. He wanted the other to give up his pretence without having to call him up on it. No need to embarrass Erestor further, after all.  
It worked at least partly: the black haired elf blinked his dark silver eyes open to glare at him, his cheeks flushing faintly.

Slowly, so as to not scare the skittish elf, Glorfindel returned to the bedside and sat down on the edge of the mattress but nonetheless Erestor scurried to sit up and scrambled backwards a little bit, eying the captain warily.  
Forcing a reassuring smile on his face, Glorfindel tried to ignore the hurt he felt at the obvious distrust. "How are you feeling?" He inquired.

"What happened?" Erestor asked in turn, looking aside and completely ignored the Vanya's question. His voice was still a little bit coarse from sleeping but otherwise cool and composed; it was hard to align the broken, sobbing elf from that very morning with the unsmiling, sober advisor now sitting in front of him, Glorfindel thought.

"Don't you remember, Erestor? You had a br…"

"My memory is impeccable as always, lord seneschal! I am aware of what happened this morn and certainly do not need you to remind me." Erestor all but growled, almost successfully glaring holes into the blond captain before he checked himself with a curt grinding of his teeth.  
"I merely tried to express my curiosity at the happenings that followed afterwards." He amended somewhat haughtily.

Glorfindel cocked his head and raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at the other elf's insolence, holding the gaze until Erestor began to blush and looked away. Satisfied, Glorfindel nodded once before he began to relay the day's events to the advisor in brief.  
"Not much, really." He said, smiling down at the advisor's still flushed and still averted face. "After bringing you here, Elrond left to have a rather long talk with Gandalf and some of my wayward soldiers… 'twas rather amusing, he reminded me somewhat of a wolf whose pack had been threatened."  
Briefly Glorfindel wondered if Erestor would understand what he wanted to convey with his jesting, that no one took any offence at what had happened and that he and Elrond cared deeply for him. As an advisor, he should pick up on the intentions of those he spoke with, but then again, this was not exactly an ordinary situation either and Erestor had never been good at handling more private matters.

"What…" Erestor croaked then halted in mid sentence as he heard his own voice. With his face not betraying any feeling he cleared his throat and licked over his lips before he continued, just like an orator whose voice gave out slightly after talking for too long.  
"What did they say?" he asked finally in a polite yet indifferent manner, forcing his eyes to meet the captain's steadily on.

Immediately Glorfindel grew serious again. That Erestor was interested in the exact details that Gandalf, Tauron as well as the other soldiers might have revealed was evidence enough that the advisor had planned to play down the incident. That must not happen, Elrond had been very insistent on that and Glorfindel himself agreed wholeheartedly.  
"They told us everything that happened this morning, Erestor." The seneschal deadpanned. Erestor had always appreciated honesty and forwardness and the seneschal didn't think that he would take kindly to any attempt at softening his words.

Erestor's eyes narrowed. "A subjective version, a *coloured* version. You realise that?"

"Of course." Glorfindel relented readily. "If you told me yours, however, we might be able to decipher what truly happened."

Erestor opened his mouth for a retort, eager to avert the ill-informed rumours that surely had developed while he slept. But no words came to his mind. He could not think of any argument that would put the captain of Imladris to ease; on the contrary, every possible, at least halfway truthful explanation was bound to send them worrying even more.

'Play it down, then!' A voice in his mind said. He didn't realise that this was exactly what he had thought right before his breakdown that very morning, what he had always thought when confronted with worry, sympathy, compassion or other such nonsense. It was his way of dealing with other elves on a private level: distracting them from the crucial matters in his life, directing their thoughts into the patterns that he wished them to run in; and he was never really aware of it. Even if he had been, he would probably have condoned it.  
"You must realise that it was not as dramatic an incident as Tauron and my … sire probably made it out to be."

"You had a panic attack, Erestor! Elrond almost got himself attacked by you, you were so afraid. You walked the whole way from your chambers to the dining hall without any footwear and never realised it, for Valar's sake!"  
Glorfindel exclaimed, upset but not really surprised at Erestor's attempt to trivialise this morning's happenings. It was crucially important that he would stop denying everything and start to accept help; both he and Elrond had agreed upon that when they had talked in the early afternoon. Still, though Elrond had cautioned his optimism, Glorfindel had dearly hoped that Erestor finally would be more open to offers of help after his breakdown. It seemed the Half-Elf had been right.

"I am fine! I would have been if everyone had just left me alone, for pity's sake! It was a one-time occurrence that would never have happened if not for that soldiers' trespassing. They entered my rooms uninvited, interrupting me when I was… well, I … I was … just …"  
Valar, he couldn't say it. What could he say anyway that didn't sound completely mad? 'I was standing naked in front of my mirror, intentionally recalling rather vividly how I got the dozens of scars littering my body!' … Glorfindel would think him insane and call Elrond and that … wouldn't go so well. Valar, he himself started anticipating dawning madness.  
Well, maybe 'curative self-finessing' wasn't possible after all.

"What, Erestor? What did you do?" Glorfindel inquired softly as Erestor had fallen silent. Of course he knew, or at least he had a good idea as to what the dark haired elf had endeavoured to do in the privacy of his rooms – Galadriel had told them after all – but he wanted the black haired elf to *acknowledge* it.

"I faced my memories of the Orcs and Fiondil, all right? I might have been a little bit incautious but I would have been fine if I had been given but some minutes of privacy and rest afterwards! I thank you and lord Elrond for your assistance this morning and I apologize for any inconveniences resulting therein, but be assured: I *can* and *will* deal with this on my own from now on! Your input is not required."

Glorfindel straightened and looked at Erestor once more with fiery intent, his blue eyes piercing, rendering the dark haired elf once more flushed and unable to hold his gaze. "In contrast to you, Erestor, I lived and died in times that provided oh so fertile soil for traumas of all kinds and natures: When Gondolin fell and I died, there were hundreds of souls rushing to the Halls basically at the same time as I did, given or taken a few hours. There were so many tortured and broken faer littering the place… look at me!" he demanded, his harsh voice allowing no disobedience.  
Slowly, hesitantly, Erestor turned his head, dark silver eyes gazing up at the captain, a thunderstorm of emotions swirling inside of them: anger, uncertainty, confusion, defiance, stubbornness … mostly the latter two. Glorfindel narrowed his eyes. He had thousands of years more experience in getting his will, he would just have to be more stubborn.

"So many faer, Erestor. Do you know how many of them actually had truly healed or almost healed at the time I left to be reborn?"

Erestor shook his head almost as if time had slowed, as if he didn't want to give the captain even this silent answer but had to, nonetheless, forced by the intense stare. He never took his eyes of the captain, but defiantly he pressed his lips tightly together, conveying his determination to not accept what the reborn Gondolinion offered.

The seneschal however didn't allow that to deter him. "Three out of five, Erestor."  
Actually, Glorfindel was not quite sure if that number was correct, no one had ever thought to make a statistic about this particular factor. But Erestor was an elf who *believed* in numbers; he knew that. And it was a good guess  
"And do you know how many of them achieved that without any help?"

Again that slow headshake that made Glorfindel wonder how Erestor managed to put so much defiance and dourness in a simple head movement.

He leaned forward, holding the other's eyes captive with his own. "None."

Erestor lowered his head, but Glorfindel could see that his words had some effect on the younger elf. His breathing quickened and his eyes darted around on the folds of the blanket covering his lean legs as he tried to assimilate the information he had been given.  
Of course, that didn't take long.  
"I'm no elf." Erestor stated quietly, the words 'I'm stronger than you think and I will prove you wrong' remaining unsaid in the tense, short silence between them; but nonetheless Erestor found himself obeying when Glorfindel ordered him to look at him once more.

"You are elf enough!" Glorfindel pressed out. "I will not let you do this to yourself, Erestor. I will not *allow* you to do this to yourself. I will see you healed and mind me, pen neth, you will accept help! If not mine, then another's!" But oh how he wished it would be his.

He glared some more at a very stunned Erestor (it had been centuries since the seneschal had called him 'young one', and never before had he talked him down like that) before he stood up from Erestor's bed. "For now I will inform Elrond that you are awake – he will surely want to speak with you – and I shall tell him to have someone bring you a proper dinner. A bath and new robes would be in order also."

And with that he turned towards the windows again and contacted his husband through their bond. All the while Erestor watched him with wide, surprised eyes, observing the seneschal's tense posture as he stood there, an imposing silhouette against the sun's deep orange light.

His mind seemed to have shut down after being stunned like that.

Erestor frowned. He really needed to learn to handle his fellow elves' new protectiveness and how to gauge their reactions. But somehow he knew that it would be for naught: he was already doomed, for he knew that the reborn elf was no match for him in stubbornness, he always got his way, except maybe with lord Elrond.

Then why did that make him feel so panicked on the one hand and on the other make his stomach flutter almost uncomfortably so? He found that he didn't care very much for this feeling.


	10. Raze The Walls To The Ground

**CHAPTER 10: Raze The Walls To The Ground**

* * *

**CHAPTER NOTES**

**SCRIPTS:**  
'Thoughts'; _~visions~_; _****mind speech****_; -l-_Letters_-l-

* * *

When Elrond entered the chamber, Erestor had already tried to put on a cloak of frost and managed quite remarkably. It was inscrutable to Elrond and Glorfindel how any being lying in a sickbed and being as pale as Erestor was could seem so proud and cold and unimpeachable and be able to look down on those standing in front of him. 'Only Erestor…' Elrond contemplated affectionately and shook his head.

The advisor politely apologized for him attacking his lord that very morning, conceding that he had been a little bit overzealous in trying to overcome his memories even though he was quick to reassure that it wouldn't happen again, mentioning that he thought it best if he were to return to his chambers and spend the remainder of the week resting and regenerating his strength before returning to his work. The latter concession – which in Erestor's humble opinion was rather bounteous and quite unnecessary – having only been made because Erestor guessed that the healer would only accommodate his wish for solitude if he himself showed Elrond that he was indeed reasonable enough.  
All the while during his little speech he had thrown stray glances at the tall blond Vanya still standing in front of the window frame, a silent image of disapproval, as if constantly anticipating a dissent from his side.

When he had finished, Elrond smiled at him winningly in a way that Erestor found rather disconcerting before telling him "As your employer I would naturally leave such a delicate decision to your healer but seeing as I am one and the same I seriously doubt you will be returning to your duties quite so soon."  
From the window, Glorfindel gave Erestor a smug half-smile, who had once again frozen, gaping at the healer incredulously.

"My lord, I assure you, I am more than capable to return to my work."

"And I never said otherwise." Elrond replied, inclining his head. He locked gazes with his husband for a moment, the blue eyes smiling back at him encouragingly, telling him to go on.

Quietly, Elrond took a step towards Erestor and, like Glorfindel earlier, sat down on the edge of the bed.  
"To be honest, Erestor, I think, no I am certain that you need healing of a kind that you cannot achieve by yourself and on your own and in such a short time as you obviously wish."

"I can!" Erestor interrupted him with a hiss. "I did it once, I will do it again!"

"You cannot force healing, Erestor! While I do not doubt that you can learn to *live on* despite of what happened, and even though I admit that you achieved that admirably after you first came here, you have never *lived*, never come to terms…"

"Don't you dare judge…"

"Hear me out, Erestor." Elrond's voice was firm and gentle at the same time, his gaze unyielding as he stared his advisor down. It was crucial that he made him accept help before the elf had completely secluded himself once more.  
"I am not judging you. But nonetheless you can't deny that these past centuries you only lived for your work and for these visions; your letters portrayed as much. All your thinking revolved around atoning for your perceived mistakes."

"Oh *please*, my lord!" Erestor sneered "we already spoke about my way of handling private matters, namely privately!"

"That is not enough anymore." Elrond drew a deep breath, steeling himself for a full grown fit of fiery rage that was undoubtedly to come.

But it didn't. Erestor just felt sick of it all. He merely wanted to be left alone, was that too much to ask? What right had they to force him like that? It wasn't his way to pour out his woes, it just wasn't. But if he didn't comply, if Elrond never deemed him healthy, or damn it, *sane* enough to return to his work, if he was never allowed to take on his duties once more as chief advisor... that was something he couldn't deal with, not even with the mere thought of being useless like that.  
It made him feel so empty, so hollow inside that he didn't even react when Elrond shifted towards him on the mattress and took his hand gently between his warm palms, rubbing it soothingly.

Glorfindel, too, came to stand next to the bed and kneeled down in front of it on the floor, a posture that would require him to look up at Erestor's face but which he hoped wouldn't intimidate the advisor or give him the feeling of being caged between the two lords. But he laid one of his hands on Erestor's forearm to get his attention and Erestor turned his gaze slowly towards him even though not directly at him.

"I know you do not want to speak, Erestor. We respect that." The Vanya said quietly "Both of us know that talking is not the remedy to every emotional pain. But let us help you through your nightmares; let us do what we can to ease you into life again. And if not us, then at least allow Lindir or Elladan and Elrohír to do so. I know you became quite close."

The honest concern drew Erestor from his stupor and hesitantly he looked down at the blonde's face. He was not stupid: even though the blonde was careful to present him with a neutral expression, it was obvious from the tension in the other elf's voice that Glorfindel hoped he would not decide to turn away from the seneschal and the lord of Imladris and go to Lindir and the peredhil twins in search of help. He just couldn't understand why.  
But maybe, maybe this was just the perfect situation to try and get ahead of all those over-protective meddlers and find a way to deflect their attention. If he could just learn the root of it, he was sure he could squash it.

"I do not understand your resolve." He admitted, straightforward as ever as he gazed to and fro between Elrond and Glorfindel.

"Is the prospect of someone caring for you so difficult to grasp?" Elrond asked softly.

"No." Erestor answered at least partly truthful. He had accepted that there were some like Thalion, Celairdúr or Lindir who simply cared for him for no concrete reasons at all or who pitied him and seemed to develop the affection of a parent or sibling or even a distant friend out of an obscure protective instinct. He just didn't really understand why.  
The only ones he truly understood were benefactors who perceived his talents and wanted to keep him useful. That was ultimately the category he had put Elrond in initially, before he had recognized that the famous Half-Elf, too, was just one of those elves that simply *cared* for no reason whatsoever beside their own compassionate and empathic nature.  
Glorfindel as well as Dírhael had probably been somewhere in between at least at the beginning of their acquaintanceship. He was never really sure. His adoptive father had been fascinated with his abilities and he could not stop himself from thinking that this had been an essential part of his decision to adopt Erestor in the first place. And Glorfindel – while always having protected him and shielded him from malign gossip to the best of his abilities – had at first had him observed secretly to determine his motives and assure himself that his intentions towards Imladris had been pure, that he was no threat, that Erestor would serve Imladris' ruler well.  
He understood it, but it had stung nonetheless.

But now, he had no idea what – by Morgoth and all his damned monstrosities – was going on in the heads of those around him. He said as much.

"I simply find it out of all reason *that*, and first and foremost *how* you, and everyone else for that matter, seem so intent on…" how best to phrase it? 'Intruding on my life'? He could not possibly say that to his lord's face!  
He pried loose his hand from Elrond's gentle grasp, flushing slightly because he had not noticed the other's touch before, and made a helpless, indefinite hand-gesture.  
"… taking a place in my life and a part in my recovery when I made it distinctly clear that I didn't wish any interference into my private life; and considering that I was allowed this privacy when I first came to Imladris and when my adoptive father died, this persistence I am observing seems quite … irrational."

Erestor looked up, trying to gauge his lords' thoughts, but he was not accustomed to read any feelings like the ones he encountered there and that confused him.  
It was nothing like the fatherly affection that Dírhael had held for him or the quiet protectiveness of his Sindar surrogate family, not the dangerous, obsessive love of Fiondil, or the friendly sparkle with which Lindir regarded him and certainly not any of the more antagonistic and hostile emotions he was met with so often.  
Whatever it was, it was … deep. He frowned nervously.

"When you first came to Imladris, I *did* press you to tell me, but I relented when I saw how close you had become to Dírhael. You were accepting of his help then and it seemed enough. I observed you, though, to be sure and I knew you were healing. But in hindsight you must admit that what you lived through this past month is quite different from what you endured during your childhood and even then you were never alone, you had Dírhael and you accepted my presence outside of work." That last thought was painful for Elrond, as his mind supplied him immediately with the fact that that had not lasted after Dírhael died. And he wondered if it was because Erestor had thought himself guilty for his adoptive father's – Elrond's friend – death and Celebrían's torture or because Erestor had only endured Elrond's presence for Dírhael's sake to begin with.

Unbeknownst to his line of thought, Erestor sat up in front of him, suddenly uncomfortable. He didn't like other's speaking about his enforced stays in Greenwood-the-would-be-great, hated it with a passion. And then again, a part of him didn't, sometimes seemed to long for it even; and that was confusing, too.

"And I didn't do as much as I should have done," Elrond continued, his gaze lowered "especially when Dírhael died; I should have, as your healer and employer, and for that I'm sorry. I won't repeat that mistake, Erestor."

Briefly Erestor wondered why Elrond's eyes seemed to flicker towards his husband at that, but he brushed the thought aside, more concerned by the words *per se*.

"You're wrong" he whispered, his eyes wide and almost pleading, because Elrond could not be right. If he was, if all those elf's who had suddenly taken an interest in his life were doing it out of a guilty conscience, they would not be easily fended off. He had experienced the power of such feelings himself, how they were able to push someone beyond his limits and go on even then.

He licked his lips that suddenly seemed dry when he became aware of his lords' gazes on him, willing him to continue. Had he really said that out loud?  
"I mean: you're wrong, it wasn't your duty." He tried to cover his slip because he would be damned if Elrond and Glorfindel found out just how much he didn't want them all in his life. But something twisted in his chest painfully at that thought and somehow he knew it to be a lie and he looked away from the compassionate eyes then, knowing some dam in him might break if he stared at them any longer; he just didn't know what consequences that might have.  
"I am but one of many of your staff members. You could not possibly take on the responsibility of their minder." He ground out from between gritted teeth.

"This responsibility is taken by the direct superior, Erestor, as you well know. And I have not so many direct inferiors, but you are one of them. Yes, technically speaking it would have been my responsibility, but that is not the point."

"Why is it that you are so uncomfortable with help, Erestor?" Glorfindel asked, steering the conversation from his husband to the advisor again. Erestor glared.

"I am not uncomfortable with it as such." He lied, causing both elves to raise a disbelieving eyebrow at him. "I merely *prefer* my independence."

"No, Erestor." And there was just something pervasive in Glorfindel's voice that made the other two occupants of the healing chamber look at him, at the intense, piercing expression on his face and listen attentively.  
"Not because of lost independence, you wouldn't lose your independence because of accepting help and you well know it … you do it because it is 'just easier not to'." He said, his voice calm and steady now and his eyes so intense that Erestor could do nothing but stare at him and swallow thickly, somehow feeling shaken without knowing why.

"Do you remember those words?" Glorfindel asked, barely above a whisper and Erestor shook his head dazedly. He could not for the life of him attribute any particular meaning to that phrase, nor did he know why the seneschal would.  
The answer came immediately afterwards and left him speechless.

"You wrote them to me in your farewell letter." Glorfindel said then and watched the younger elf blanch.  
"You said that you didn't accept my friendship because it was easier not to." He paused for a moment as Erestor released a shivering breath, looking sick to the stomach.

"And now you are doing it again. You refuse the assistance and friendship that I and Elrond offer you even though you know it would be good for you; refuse the twins' help, Tauron and the other soldiers…" He didn't mention Gandalf right now, understanding that something had happened between father and son that morning that would not be easily repaired so soon. The Maia would need to repair the rift he had caused himself because Glorfindel knew if he brought him up now, Erestor would simply take to that particular topic with fervent anger, conveniently ignoring all his other arguments.

"Because you found it to be easier not to handle the implications, the consequences of accepting that help, those friendships, you have spurned them." His voice was still calm, but regardless Erestor flinched and slumped back into the cushions, boneless.

He wanted to vehemently gainsay the conclusions that the blonde Vanya had drawn, he wanted to push him away from his bedside and call him up on the lies except that he couldn't contradict something that he knew to be true, not with a clear conscience. But how he wanted them to be untrue so much that it almost hurt!

Oh he knew that it hadn't started like that. He had accepted Thalion's help immediately, his beloved brother's. He had allowed him to cradle him close and soothe his nightmares whenever they overcame him during the long nights in Greenwood and he had relished in and thrived under his and his family's company. His youthful mind had gotten used to their presence so easily and it had done him so much good. And then they had vanished from his life and he learned that coming to trust Dírhael as much as he had his surrogate family had been much harder for him. But he had in the end before the elf who had been his adoptive father and mentor had left him, too.

And he had left him alone with no other friends: During all his life in Imladris, the malign gossip he had endured had not made him inclined to search out others and those who would … Erestor had not been certain if he wanted to grow attached to elves who might die or who he would hurt if he was to die. That had been his maxim for his whole life since Dírhael's death: 'keep other's and yourself from harm, emotional and physical.'  
It had required Lindir's constant persistence to make him cave in finally but he had held back even then.

He had never thought that his cautiousness might have been nothing more than an excuse so he wouldn't have to deal with the attention of others, which he simply was not used to. And that was an ugly reason, one that betrayed weaknesses he hadn't thought to possess at all. It was certainly less noble than the reason he had pretended to have, and that realisation was hurtful.  
But nonetheless it was true and he couldn't ignore what logic told him: if he had done it out of his wish to not hurt himself and anyone he could have potentially learned to love or care for, then he could have allowed those relationships to form now. That he was so unwilling showed it was nothing more than cowardice and laziness.

Immediately the accused part of his mind leaped to its defence. It wasn't true, it was mental and physical exhaustion that made him seek solitude, the need to rest and heal, and he could acknowledge that what had happened to him would cause that. He knew he was not well; the way everyone was looking at him, handling him like a fragile glass sculpture, the way he had reacted that very morning to simple gestures told him as much. But he had only been in Imladris for a single day now, for Valar's sake!  
They couldn't expect him to function normally.

"I would very much appreciate it if you made up your mind, my lords." By Elbereth, his voice was coarse and thick with tears. "Either you think I am well and should be up and about, mingling jovially with the many elves seeking my company with only the best intentions, who were just never really aware of what a wonderful elf I truly am – a pity that, which of course they have to rectify right away." Erestor tried his best to sneer, not quite successful as he had to blink his tears away..  
"Or you think I am not and need all the rest and healing I can get, which I cannot in the presence of so many strangers forcing their way into my life, unwanted I might add."

"I would have hoped," Elrond said carefully but firmly "that neither Glorfindel nor me were strangers in your eyes, at this point. We worked together for centuries, we protected you always and you saved us on the High Pass, we saved you in Greenwood, when you were dying from your injuries, venturing our very life force in doing so, willingly and gladly. I will not let you ignore that!"

Fiercely, Erestor shook his head, once, twice, and bit his lips before he couldn't contain himself any longer, his tears spilling over. He had never really been aware of what had been required to call him back from the door sill of Mandos' Halls, never thought about it.  
He had never meant to hurt Elrond or Glorfindel, never meant to belittle their efforts. Lately it seemed he was always doing something wrong.  
And he hadn't known that they cared so much either.

But as Elrond leaned over to pull Erestor's weeping form firmly into his warm embrace and as Glorfindel sat onto the mattress on the other side at last to lay his arms around him from behind and nestle his cheek against his shoulder, hushing him, Erestor had to admit that they did, at least in the silence and privacy of his own mind.  
And maybe, maybe he could be comfortable with their help and friendship and learn to be contented with that and not wish for more.


	11. AN

ON HIATUS!

I am sorry to say that The Bitter Glass Series is not going to be continued in the near future.

Frankly, I have very little time right now as I'm in the last year of my studies. I have university to finish, a very time-consuming side job and another story in the HP fandom, and I can't do everything and do it right.

So I had to prioritize and as there was so little feedback on the Bitter Glass, Scarred Fate and Gates Of Dawn, I decided to continue my HP story (Night Flight) instead for now and reward the many loyal reviewers there. Honestly, it was quite disheartening to see not a single review for Scarred Fate, even though I personally think that from all of my four stories, this was and will be the best.

If this decision disappoints you, I am sorry. I know how annoying it is to see a story one was interested in being discontinued. Someday, though, I will finish Gates Of Dawn, because the whole series means much to me on a personal level. Already over two years of work went into it, so much nervousness, elation, frustration, anticipation and giddiness ... and it was after all the first _anything_ I ever published and regardless of anyone else's opinion, I am quite proud of it.

You are welcome to add this story to your alerts if you are willing to wait, but I won't promise anything. At this point I really don't know when I might update.

I'd like to thank all of you for reading this series, especially those who reviewed or added it to their favorites or alerts; I hope you enjoyed it so far and to those who reviewed: thank you for each and every one of your reviews, they were very much appreciated and I am sorry for putting Gates Of Dawn on hold.

~ Massanie


End file.
